


Chuck vs The Lost Memories

by CFVici



Category: Chuck (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-07
Updated: 2014-07-28
Packaged: 2018-01-23 21:11:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 32
Words: 62,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1579691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CFVici/pseuds/CFVici
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The day Mary Bartowski disappeared, 9-year-old Chuck broke his mother's favorite necklace. 12-year-old Ellie tattled on him. Stephen Bartowski bent down to Ellie's level and with equal parts wisdom and compassion, he told her something she would never forget: "Ellie, there's nothing broken in this whole world that can't be fixed if you and your brother work together."</p><p>Post S-5 with all canon elements in play.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Beach (Sarah's POV)

**Author's Note:**

> I apologize in advance for the length of this note. I do not normally write long or copious notes, so I beg your indulgence this time.
> 
> I would not have written the series ending as it was. I would have done it differently. However, I was not consulted. The fact that anyone feels so strongly about this proves we all LOVED "Chuck". And that is a huge tribute to the creators and the writers of the 91 episodes we have. I have always found the writing for Chuck to be top-notch, amazing, and utterly brilliant. I only dream of being as good a writer as those who wrote the TV scripts.
> 
> While the last episode was not good for an ending, it was still brilliant, precisely because it was NOT the end. I want more. You want more. The entire cast wants more. Everyone who has ever watched the show wants more. It was the mother of all cliffhangers. It BEGS for more. Brilliant!
> 
> If you want a fanfiction to just give you a "happily ever after", then you probably should skip my story. I don't intend to simply fix the ending. I intend to take what they gave us and build on it. I happen to think Chuck, Sarah, and Casey quitting the spy life to be "normal", while okay for a happily-ever-after ending, would make a very boring movie, TV special, or renewal of the series.
> 
> I still want what everyone else wants: I want Josh and Chris (or their handpicked professional colleague) to write a kick-ass screenplay, get the entire original cast back, and make a movie. I will pay to see it in the theater, wearing a kelly green polo shirt (or maybe a big BM) to stand in line opening night. I will buy the Blu-Ray collector's edition of said movie, with all the bonus features and commentary. If necessary, I will eat nothing but Subway sandwiches for six months.
> 
> But as much as we all WANT that movie, it's not in the works yet, as far as I know. I can't make that happen. What I am attempting here is not the movie we want, it's a consolation prize—a novel (or possibly a series of novels, depending on interest). All I can hope to accomplish is to tide us over until the real meal, whetting our appetites for the delicious feast a movie is sure to be.
> 
> Therefore, I am NOT going to write a 'happily-ever-after' ending. I want Chuck and Sarah and Casey to have many more adventures like the ones we have come to love. If you just want them to buy the house with the picket fence, have some kids, and be even more boring than the Woodcombs, then don't waste your time with me. TONS of other writers can give that to you. I have material for at least three novels before Chuck and Sarah settle down, so this is full disclosure. I plan on angst, action, and adventure. I plan on actual plots full of conflict, just like all the episodes we have come to love. You want that too? Come along for the ride.
> 
> If you haven't read me before, you may not know this, but I try very hard to be true to the source material in as many ways as possible. The Chuck and Sarah relationship grew SLOWLY over five seasons. They dated other people. They broke up several times. There were times it looked very bleak. Please, have at least as much patience with me as you had watching the show, okay?
> 
> Lastly, I have to admit my worst shortcoming: I am insanely insecure. I need feedback, preferably comments that are more detailed than "Update!" What, specifically did you like? What made you laugh? Was the chapter too long/too short? Did anyone sound out-of-character? Did the suspense work? Were you on the edge of your seat? Did I misidentify some video game reference?
> 
> Yes, I have three novels worth of Chuck ideas, but I won't bother writing them if I don't feel like my work is appreciated. Writing takes a lot of time and effort and I throw my soul into it, but to be honest, I write fanfic because I am addicted to the reader encouragement I can't get any other way. If I want to be ignored, I can go back to writing original. I need more than that and all it costs is a tiny bit of your time. You want my time? Then pay me back with yours. Simple as that.
> 
> I don't mind if you point out errors, but I am fully aware I'm not posting perfect, publishing-ready copy. I proofread and I attempt to make it clean, but I have yet to find a beta who can do any better than I do for myself. If some producer pays me to write a real script or if the powers-that-be sign a deal with Kindle Worlds, like they did for Veronica Mars, then I would ask for harder critique and do rewrites. As it is, no one will go back and read rewrites, so I don't pretend to put professional levels of work into chapters I am giving away for free.
> 
> Thanks for your attention. Hope to see you in future chapters (which will have MUCH LESS notes, I promise.)

Sarah had listened intently while Chuck told her their story and they'd both laughed. She enjoyed his company, which surprised her, considering she hardly remembered anything from the last five years. He was incredibly sweet and attractive, but hearing their story was like watching a movie of someone else's life. Even though she believed it was true, it wasn't the same as  _remembering_.

So when Chuck told her the corny 'solution' Morgan had suggested, she wasn't reluctant to try it. She wanted Morgan to be right. What did she have to lose? She savored the kiss and returned it with as much feeling as she could muster—more passion than she would put into a kiss for a mark. Whatever else she thought of Chuck, of their past, she had seen him take a bullet for her. Granted, he was wearing a vest, but he had stepped in front of Quinn's gun reflexively, without thinking.

Besides, it appeared she had married a good kisser.

When he finally broke the kiss and stared deeply into her eyes, she felt rotten to have to disappoint him. Those beautiful brown eyes, brimming with tears and such pure love—that hope-filled gaze didn't deserve the disappointment she was about to bestow.  ** _Deserve_**. The word touched a chord in her mind—a memory.

She drew a deep breath and shook her head slowly. "Chuck, I'm sorry. I wish Morgan had been right. I wanted to be that Disney princess for you."

Disappointment clouded his countenance and he tried to produce a smile. "I guess I'm not Prince Charming."

It bothered her that he kept putting himself down.  _"I know it's unbelievable that a girl_ **like you** _could fall for a guy like me."_  Why was it so unbelievable? From everything she could see,  ** _he_**  was the catch. He was handsome and caring and utterly selfless. If anything was true at all, then that girl she couldn't remember,  ** _she_**  was the lucky one.

"I didn't marry Prince Charming. I married  ** _you_**."

"You remember?" Hope bounded back. She could see why she fell for that adorable face.

"No, not very much, but I remembered my wedding vow, or some of it, at least. I said, 'every day I will show you that you're a gift that I deserve.'"

He nodded. "That's right," he whispered as another tear slipped down his cheek. A cautious smile started to form.

She didn't give him time to form a full smile, because it would only hurt more when she had to dash his hopes again. "See, that's the problem, Chuck. I don't remember  ** _me_**. The me I remember was not a person who deserved you. If Ellie hadn't head-on crashed her car, I would have killed you. I would have pulled the trigger and been proud of myself for accomplishing my mission. Why can I remember being a cold-hearted assassin, but I can't remember who I was after I met you?"

He opened his mouth to answer, but she placed her index finger over his lips to preclude it. She needed to get this out before she lost the thoughts or the nerve to say it.

"I don't need time to decide if I care about you. I do. Please believe me. But I don't trust  ** _myself_**. I don't want to hurt you again. I just have to find myself and make sure I  ** _am_**  that person who deserves you."

"No, no, no, no, no. Honey, you do deserve me. I always thought I was the luckiest man on Earth to be with you."

She frowned. "Why do you keep talking that? Did I act like I was superior to you?"

He looked taken-aback. "What? You didn't need to act. You just  ** _were_**. I was the underachieving loser while you were the best in the world at what you do."

"But isn't 'what I do' something bad? You said I loved you because you wouldn't kill anyone. Isn't that hypocritical? I was going to dump you after your red test for doing exactly what I do all the time."

"You only kill when you have to, Sarah. You kill bad people in order to save good people—lots of good people."

"Chuck, I almost killed  ** _you_**. And Morgan and Casey too! Their only crime was trying to help me, to help  ** _us_**."

"You were being manipulated and lied-to, Sarah. It's not your fault. All is forgiven. No one blames you."

" _ **I**_ blame me. I need to figure out who I am so I can be sure I won't ever be controlled like that ever again."

He paused and moved a stray hair from her face. "Okay, how do you plan to do that?"

"What do you know about my past? Who am I, really?" His face scrunched up and she suppressed the smile that wanted to form as a reaction.

He schooled his face into something less weird and then started talking like he was a teacher or something. "You have passports in dozens of names. You went to high school down in San Diego as Jenny Burton. You once told Shaw your real name was Sam. I was eavesdropping for a mission and I heard, but you never told me personally or confirmed it. I spent a little time with your dad..."

She raised an eyebrow. Jack Burton was not the social type, unless he was conning someone.

"He didn't call you Sam and neither did your mother."

"You've met my mother?" She had promised herself no one would ever,  _ever_  know who her mother was, or where she lived.

"Yes." He gave her a reassuring smile. "Oh, don't worry. Ryker's dead. Your mom and Molly are safe."

He waited for her to get over that shocker before he drew a deep breath and continued. "You asked me to call you Sarah, so I figured that was who you wanted to be. That's what I've always called you. That's the name on our marriage license. Morgan called me 'Mr. Sarah Walker' and..." He took her hand, caressed it slowly with his thumb. "Sarah, I embraced it. I know it's kind of weird and turned-around. But you've always been the strong one and I've always been the emotional one. I always attach good intentions to people, even when it's totally unrealistic. But you see right through the lies and know when someone shouldn't be trusted. We complete each other, Sarah." He shook his head. "Or whatever name you want to go by. If knowing your real name is important to you, we'll talk to your mother. Maybe we could find your dad, too."

"Actually, I remember my childhood pretty well. I was thinking more of the time I spent with the CATS and Bryce. How did Quinn control what got erased from my mind? Why didn't I lose all my spy training?"

Chuck's eyes lit up. "What did you just say?"

"I said, 'Why didn't I lose my spy training?'"

"No, the part about Quinn. You think he  ** _controlled_  **this memory loss somehow?"

She shrugged. "He was controlling everything else. I wouldn't have been able to get the Intersect glasses and get so close to killing you if he wasn't extremely precise in what he made me forget and what he made sure I remembered. Six months difference either way and he couldn't have fooled me."

"You're right. Oh, Sarah, this is good!" He grinned so big she thought his mouth might break. "Maybe this can help Ellie figure this out, you know, to find you a cure."

"I thought she and Devon moved to Chicago."

"They did, but she's not giving up on you. None of us are."

"Casey did." There was no resentment in her tone. It was just a fact. After five years of supposedly being 'the best damn partner he ever had', when she was lost and vulnerable, he dropped off a DVD of her mission logs, told her to take care of herself, and skipped town. Actually, his behavior seemed the most familiar of all. Having people who  _cared_  was much more foreign and odd. She didn't know what to think of it all.

Chuck rushed to stick up for him: "He probably doesn't see it that way. We had plans to shift Carmichael Industries into a counter-cyberterrorism company and leave all the cloak and dagger stuff behind so you and I could star—" He cut off his words and bit his lips, maybe sensing her growing discomfort with where the sentence seemed to be headed. "I don't think Casey was ready to hang up his sniper rifles and machine guns." Chuck smirked, but she wasn't sure if it was just part of his quirky personality or if he was trying to make her laugh. She couldn't indulge him this time, not after the kiss had failed to produce the miracle.

"So what was  _ **I**  _supposed to do for this cyberterrorism company?"

"Uh..."

"Stay home and make babies." She couldn't help making it sound degrading, but she didn't take it back. That was her whole point. She didn't know how to do anything else but be a spy.

Chuck swallowed hard. "Honey, you were disappointed when you took a pregnancy test and it was negative. But we didn't plan to have children right away. I was ready to rejoin the CIA and use the signing bonus to buy our dream home. You talked me out of it."

That stretched his credibility thinner than anything else he had said all day and she could see in his eyes that he knew how unbelievable it sounded, but he didn't try to amend it.

He cleared his throat. "You said you would use your experience in 'international bad-guy-ery'. I admit, I wasn't sure exactly what you meant, but the whole thing was  ** _your_**  idea. You said I was going to use computers and I knew I could do that, so I didn't argue."

"International bad guy-ery? What does that even mean?"

His face became a mixture of hell-if-I-know and guilty puppy. "You found us office space. Above ground. Once used by Ronald Reagan, although if that didn't win Casey over to the idea, nothing probably would, so we don't have to go with that one if you... don't..." He let the sentence drop and studied her face. He was so disarming in how he looked at her. "This isn't helping, is it?"

"No, not really." The sun had disappeared into the Pacific and it was getting chilly on the beach. She scooted next to Chuck and nuzzled her head in under his chin.

He wrapped his long arm around her. "It's going to be all right, Sarah. We're going to fix your memory. Somehow, we'll make this all right."

She didn't answer. She nodded, but not so much in agreement as an acknowledgment she'd heard him. They'd had enough drama for one day and she needed to talk to Beckman. Right now, Chuck felt warm and safe and the beach was peaceful and undemanding. Bad news could wait.


	2. Echo Park / Buy More (Chuck's POV)

Chuck slept alone that night, but he slept well knowing Sarah was safe on his couch. She didn't want to come home with him at first, but when he prodded her to admit she had given up her room at Maison 23, she really couldn't turn down the offer of the couch or Morgan's old bedroom. Actually, if he could have lured her into  _ **their**_  bedroom, he would have, but only to show her how gentlemanly he could be. Maybe if he went to bed fully clothed like he did back when their relationship was just a cover, it would spark a memory. But perhaps that was asking too much, too soon.

At least she had let him tell her about their past and she hadn't totally spurned him. It was incredible that Sarah Walker had fallen for him once. He knew it was a tall order to expect the miracle to repeat itself. It wasn't that he was unwilling to try to win her again. He completely was. However, luck and extraordinary circumstances had played a part the first time, and if she couldn't remember all those quirky little incidents, he wasn't sure he could duplicate their effects.

How much of Sarah's affection derived from the fact she had initially seen him as an innocent victim, some little lost mutt who wouldn't stay in the car? Would that first real kiss have ever happened if they hadn't been sure they were about to die?

Okay, so the kiss on the beach had been real. She had fully consented and she kissed him back, but it wasn't the same. She was still guarded and uncertain. How scary was it to suddenly be married to a giant nerd you didn't remember meeting and falling for? He would just have to keep working on her memory.

When he woke and pattered out to the kitchen, the couch was empty. He checked the bathroom and called for her, but Sarah was gone. Panic descended faster than the last cheese ball from an upturned plastic tub. Was that the end? Was she gone forever?

He tried to calm down. They'd made so much progress. She wouldn't just run off, _unless..._  No, he wasn't going to freak out. There could be any number of reasonable explanations. She'd laughed with him, kissed him, and snuggled on the beach with him. There was no reason to believe she had been anything but genuine.  _Maybe she just went jogging_.

He wouldn't let her catch him fretting and moping. Time to be strong and supportive. He showered and dressed for work. Purely out of habit, he threw on a Nerd Herd white shirt, gray tie, and his trusty pocket protector. Looking in the mirror, he realized he no longer needed to pretend to work at the Buy More, but he still had to use the home theater entrance to Castle, so it wouldn't hurt to blend in. He was planning to figure out what Sarah could do for the restructured Carmichael Industries so he would be prepared to give her a better answer the next time she brought it up.

Before he left the bedroom, he tied his Converse sneaks and slipped on the Governor watch his dad had made him. He wasn't sure his present Intersect needed it. Perhaps the Key and the chip Quinn stole from Beckman's medal accomplished the same thing as the Governor had, but after Morgan's and Sarah's bad experiences with their brain-melting Intersects, Chuck wasn't taking any chances.

The apartment was still empty. If Sarah had gone jogging, she should have been back by now. He wasn't worried for her safety like most men would be. Sarah had always been more than capable of taking care of herself. She could wear a short tennis skirt and jog in the toughest neighborhood around, and Chuck would be more afraid for anyone stupid enough to try anything than he would be for her. No, he was more concerned for himself and the possibility of losing her.  _Stop spiraling, Chuck_. Funny how the chiding voice of his conscience sounded just like Sarah. He heeded the advice and locked up the apartment.

His cheerful wing-man, Morgan, met him in the courtyard. "Hey, Chuck, how'd it go with Sarah? You found her, right?"

"Yeah, I found her, buddy. We had a great talk and we tried the kiss, but," he placed his hand atop his best friend's shoulder, "no Disney magic. She still doesn't remember."

"Aww, I'm sorry, man." The bearded one gazed up at him. "I'm glad you're taking it so well."

Chuck shrugged. "We're talking. That's something, right?" Morgan nodded. They both started walking out of the complex. "And she slept on my couch—uh,  _ **our**_  couch."

"The couch?"

Chuck didn't dare turn his head or his best friend would surely see right through his artificial smile. He tried to sound enthused. "In  _ **our**_  apartment." He pointed at himself and then an imaginary Sarah on his other side. "Under the same roof. Co-habiting—habitating? Me 'n' the wife. Both of us, right here in  _ **our**_  apartment." It was awkward now. He pressed his lips together and stopped talking.

They walked a few moments in silence. Chuck was too tense to take the quiet. "So how are you and Alex?"

"Me and Alex? We're fine. Great, actually. Just she misses her dad, ya know?"

_Casey?_ Chuck slipped quite naturally into intel-gathering mode. "Did he say where he was going?"

"He didn't actually  _ **say**_ , but we both think he went after, uh..." Morgan coughed. "... Gertrude."

Casey and Verbanski were a couple of star-crossed gun fanatics, and they definitely had some kind of  _ **thing**_  for each other, but Chuck wouldn't begin to know what to call it. The closest Casey had ever got to talking about romance was when he gave Chuck advice on how to propose to Sarah. After several failed attempts, it was Casey's idea to quit trying to arrange a perfect moment or a super romantic atmosphere.  _All you need is the girl_ , he'd said. In that, he'd been absolutely right.

Chuck could not picture Casey holding Verbanski's hand while they strolled through the exhibits at Weap-Con. Nor did he see them picking out curtains or having a heart-to-heart chat about their feelings. For one thing, Casey mainly just grunted, but for another, Verbanski didn't seem the listening type. Chuck had gotten very odd vibes off Verbanski when she hired Carmichael Industries for her little Aegis deal in South Beach. Chuck was never sure whether his opinions arose from Verbanski being their biggest competitor, or from the way she treated Casey, or possibly something entirely unrelated. In any case, something didn't sit quite right.

Still, Casey deserved to find happiness and if Gertrude made him happy, well, he should be with her. "Good for him. You tell him I said hi if he checks in, okay?"

"You bet I will," Morgan promised.

They were outside the Buy More now. The parking lot was a lot more crowded ever since the new owners put a Subway inside the store. Chuck was kind of sorry he and Sarah had sold it. At least they hadn't included Castle in the deal. They could take their time moving all their equipment to new office space, and then lock up the underground facility forever.

Although he'd walked most of the way to work without turning to look at his tall friend, Morgan looked at him now. "Hey, Chuck, can I ask a favor?"

"Sure. Anything, buddy."

"I mean, I hate to ask, but the Nerd Herd is way behind without Jeff and Lester. You think you could do a quick offsite or two, help us out? Pretty please?"

For anyone else, the answer would have been no. Like,  _hell, no_. However, he owed Morgan a lot. Getting out into the normal world would be good for getting his mind off Sarah. Plus, he was already wearing the uniform. He gave a closed-lip smile and touched his friend's chest with his index finger. "You got it."

"Thanks. Big Mike thinks I engineered the Pacific Concert Hall thing to get Jeffster discovered. I think he's just mad they didn't hire him as their manager."  _So he could relive his youth when he was the Rain of "Earth, Wind, Fire, and Rain"._  Morgan didn't say that part, but he didn't need to.

"You did do a kick-ass baton with the orchestra."

Morgan grinned. "Yeah, it was fun, wasn't it?"

'Fun' was not a word Chuck would ever have used to describe that day. He'd had to load the Intersect to his own head so he could disarm the bomb under General Beckman's seat. If he hadn't been forced to use the glasses, Ellie could have programmed them to give back Sarah's memories. Yes, they'd saved a huge concert hall full of people, but the cost was so high, he could never count it a true victory.

Chuck only hesitated a second, but Morgan caught it right away. "Oh. Sorry. No, not fun for you. You were doing all the hard stuff, disarming a bomb and fighting Quinn and all that." He slapped Chuck lightly on the back. "Stupid of me. Sorry."

Chuck waved off the apology. "No problem. Don't mention it."

They walked through the automatic glass doors. The Buy More was bright and clean—both new and strangely familiar at the same time. The Nerd Herd desk had a sleeker, modern shape, with a polished back granite top and chrome trim. The front still sported the red, white, and black briefcase runner logo. A large portion of the old selling floor had been dedicated to giving the Subway patrons a comfortable dining experience. The breakfast crowd was currently chattering away and munching on delicious food. The scent of bread baking in the ovens filled the entire store.

Chuck was still taking it all in when Sarah stormed out of the home theater, looking distracted. "Sarah?" he called, heading toward her.

She cringed, obviously not expecting to see him. Her facial expression quickly altered, becoming more neutral, but short of happy. She maneuvered into an evasive course that would ensure they didn't get too close. "Not right now, Chuck. I need to go."

Chuck held back the considerable temptation to grab her by the hand. Instead, he offered a smile. "Does 'not now' imply there will be a later?"

"Yeah. Sure." It sounded a bit too much like the tone she used when manipulating someone she was interrogating. Say anything to get them to spill the beans.

He decided to sweeten the deal to make it harder for her to avoid later, if indeed that was her intention. "Dinner out? Your pick."

"I don't know any restaurants here. I still feel like I was living in D.C. last week."

He adopted his Charles Carmichael voice. "Then allow me to astound and amaze you with Burbank's finest cuisine." He waggled a brow for effect.

That earned him a chuckle.

"There's that beautiful smile on my beautiful wife."

Her smile evaporated as if she were disappointed in herself for having slipped. She took another step toward the door. "I really do have to go."

"Where are you going? Maybe I could go with?" He'd shuffle the Nerd Herd stuff if he had to. Morgan would understand. His phone vibrated with a text notification, but he didn't break eye contact with Sarah. She needed to know she was his priority. Everything else could wait.

"Dinner sounds great. I'll see you later, Chuck." She leaned in like she was planning to deposit a peck on his cheek.

He moved his head so their lips met instead. Something like surprise or annoyance flashed in her eyes, but she banished it instantly and kissed him back. It wasn't like the kiss on the beach, but to be fair, she  _ **was**_  distracted and this was the Buy More. The fact she avoided telling him where she was going bothered him more than a little, but he was trying hard not push her. They could talk at dinner.

He waved goodbye and then pulled his phone from his pocket. General Beckman's face was the background of the text message:  _Meet me at Castle_. She was still in Los Angeles? Great! This saved him from leaving twelve messages and playing phone tag. He hurried down through the home theater's hidden trap door. Maybe he could get a little of his research started while he waited for the general.


	3. Castle (Chuck's POV)

Chuck was a little surprised Sarah had left the lights on in Castle, but once he reached the stairway, he could see why. The general was already here, seated at the conference table.

"Thank you for coming, Chuck."

"Uh, sure, General. I didn't know you were still in L.A."

"Agent Wa—Sarah asked to see me. She let me in." Was it the word 'agent' or the fact she started to use 'Walker' and not 'Bartowski' that had changed her mind?

"Well, as long as Castle is still here, you're always welcome. We're going to lock it up when we get our equipment moved. The new Buy More owners didn't get—"

Her impatient scowl took over and the second Chuck paused, she interrupted. "Is this room secure? I'm here off the record."

He descended the stairs faster and went straight to the master computer. After a few clicks, he had all surveillance in the room shut down. "It is now."

"Good. Sit down, Chuck."

Carmichael Industries was  ** _his_**  company—well, his and Sarah's. Beckman really had no right to be ordering him around, but he knew better than to cross her. She was one feisty little woman and he respected her greatly. "Yes, ma'am. Sitting down." Even sitting at the table, he dwarfed her, but size had never mattered. She was always in charge.

"Sarah asked to rejoin the CIA."

"She  _ **what**_? General, she doesn't remember, but less than a week ago, she was adamant about  _ **quitting**_  the spy life."

"I know. We spoke before she lost her memory. She told me off in no uncertain terms."

"I can't believe she didn't tell me she was planning this. I thought we were making progress on restoring her memories and returning to normal lives."

"I'd be lying if I said I didn't want her back, but not like this. She isn't the same. I barely got the charges dropped for the bombing at DARPA. If we didn't have Quinn's detonator, she'd be in custody right now. She set the charges and left them active, knowing full well what building she was in. Even if Quinn had really been CIA, she should have questioned that."

Chuck almost opened his mouth to defend her, but it wasn't a good idea to make Sarah any more attractive to the CIA than she already was. If she ever got her memory back, she'd regret all this. Maybe it was better the general had misgivings. He held his tongue.

"I told her Dr. Dreyfus has to clear her before I can consider her for field work."

As a CIA psychiatrist, Dreyfus had once had Chuck committed to the government insane asylum. Chuck still didn't think he had deserved it, but he'd decked a diplomat at the symphony, causing an international incident which the president had to apologize for. His impulsive move left Dreyfus with little choice. However, Dreyfus, along with Sarah and Casey, came back to rescue him when the bad guy showed up at the mental hospital with murderous intent. Dreyfus was fair. Surely, he wouldn't allow an amnesia patient to run off on a spy mission when she should be getting therapy to restore her memories.

"Thank you, General. Did Sarah mention that we suspect Quinn may have specifically targeted what memories he erased? I was thinking that could help us figure out how to get her memories back."

"No, Sarah didn't mention it. She's acting a little..." she twisted her face in a grimace, "...moody. That's another thing I hope Dr. Dreyfus can address. However, I didn't ask you here to discuss Sarah. I probably shouldn't have told you at all about her request, but it's pertinent to what I  _ **do**_  want to discuss." She shifted in her chair and relaxed her stern face a little.

"Chuck, you now have the last copy of the Intersect in your head. No one else we or the Ring ever recruited for implementation of the Intersect software has had half the success as you have. Both your father and your old professor at Stanford insisted you were special and uniquely qualified, but no one would listen. Time and again, all other candidates proved unworkable, even dangerous. With the destruction of the lab at DARPA, it has been decided that no further attempt will be made to produce super spies via Intersect technology. But that still leaves  ** _you_**."

He started to respond, but she flashed a don't-you-dare-mess-with-me glare and eyebrow, so Chuck zipped it.

"I am well aware you only loaded the Intersect to save thousands of lives at the Pacific Concert Hall, including mine. It cost us the last five years of Sarah's memories. I don't take that sacrifice lightly and I know you don't either. If you want the Intersect out of your head, I will give you the means to remove it. You can be done with us forever. Just know that once it is removed, all your father's work will be destroyed, redacted, and purged."

Just a few days ago, he and Ellie had agreed that Dad would have wanted the project terminated because of all the misery it caused. Then again, Chuck had never wanted the 2.0 removed when Clyde Decker forced it out of him. He had learned, to a degree, how to control his flashes. Unfortunately, much of his control depended on keeping his emotions in check and that had come from Sarah. Could he realistically hope she would do that again? Wasn't it selfish to keep the awesome tool he'd grown to love when he had agreed it should be destroyed? He really hadn't had time to think about having the Intersect because he'd been too focused on Sarah.

He'd been staring into space for several seconds when he realized the general was watching and, remarkably, not speaking. When he finally blinked, she continued. "I should also mention that Dr. Eleanor Woodcomb has requested access to all of our Intersect-related data. Since your father gave her all his research, she is actually the number one expert on the subject. If I grant her clearance, she would be able to collaborate with Dr. Dreyfus on developing therapy and possibly a cure for Sarah."

Chuck thought he knew where this was headed, but he needed to hear it from her. "But if I have the Intersect removed...?"

"Then all Intersect-related data will be destroyed, including what might be helpful to Sarah's recovery. I'm sorry. I know it sounds like blackmail. That's why I wanted to speak to you in person." The look on her face was one of true concern. She was definitely a badass general, but she had a heart under that tough exterior.

"Couldn't you just give Ellie the data and then do all your..." he mimed a karate chop "...redacting and destroying after that?"

She gave a grim shake of her head. "Part of redacting means confiscating Orion's hard drive and destroying  ** _it_** , too."

"You can't do that! My father left it to Ellie. It's not a government computer. It's private property!"

"It's a data storage device holding highly sensitive research. If the project is terminated, it  ** _all_  **has to go."

Okay, so no bait-and-switch. He drew a deep breath. "Will Ellie be in danger if you give her clearance?"

"No more than she already is. Her expertise in neurology combined with Orion's research is what makes her vulnerable, but she already had that outside of our involvement. She's actually safer if we take her into the fold because then we can take security measures and provide protection. You father's laptop should be kept in a secure facility, surrounded by guards, not sitting on some civilian's dining room table in the Chicago suburbs."

Until his sister's very recent move, Chuck had kept Dad's Roark 7 in Castle and Ellie came here to work on it. He hadn't really thought about security, other than not wanting Jane Bentley to hijack it for her own purposes. "That's my fault, General, and I promise to take care of it, but Ellie can _ **not**_  be a spy. She has a baby and a family." Chuck would never allow her to abandon Clara and Awesome like his own mother had abandoned them. Not even to help Sarah.

Beckman pursed her lips in thinly disguised impatience. "You may recall from your basic training that the 'I' in C.I.A. stands for intelligence. Dr. Woodcomb would be a scientific consultant,  _ **not**_  a field agent."

_Yeah, that's what they told Hartley Winterbottom and look what happened to him_. There was no point bringing that up. It only served to remind everyone of Dad's mistake. However, her answer did give him another idea. If it was safe for a mother, it should be safe for  ** _him_** , right? Even if Sarah remembered everything tomorrow, she couldn't be mad about him accepting something as safe and mundane as a consultant. "If I keep the Intersect, will they let  _ **me**_  be a consultant... or an analyst, maybe?"

She sighed heavily. "My superiors ordered me to lead you to believe you  _ **have**_  to be a spy, Chuck. That's what you've been trained for. But Team Bartowski saved my life and rescued me from treason charges back during Shaw's attempted coup, so to hell with my superiors. I'm going to be straight with you. You don't have to work for us at all. Our secrets are backed up this time. We won't be any worse off by you denying us use of an active, functioning Intersect than we would be if you have it removed. As long as we're reasonably sure you haven't been compromised by an enemy, you're free to live your life. I won't say I'd be happy about losing one of my finest agents, but I already lost you before you uploaded the Intersect, didn't I?"

He was moved by her compliment, but he couldn't really say so while holding his resolve about quitting the CIA. He left her rhetorical question unanswered. "General, can I ask you something personal?"

Her expression became something between a smirk and a frown. "I suppose."

"Roan Montgomery told me about your little pact. Do you ever regret not quitting the spy life to settle down and have a family?"

She smiled. "Not for a second. But I  _ **do**_  regret not giving Craig and Laura Turner some serious competition as the best spy  _ **couple**_."

Chuck grinned. "You and Roan would have blown them away."

Her smile widened and both brows raised. Her face was still time-worn, but her eyes glinted with a spark of youth. "Damn straight, we would have."

She stood and pushed in her chair. Her smile faded to a solemn expression. "You have a lot to think about and I assume you'll need to talk to your wife and your sister. You have 48 hours to decide. We'll be in touch."

.

* * *

.

**Government limousine waiting outside Orange Orange (Beckman's POV)**

General Diane Beckman told her driver to take her to LAX and waited for him to close the partition. She removed a bug detector from her pocket and swept the passenger area for electronic listening devices. She also checked her cell phone. When she was absolutely assured of privacy, she hit speed dial. It connected on the second ring.

"You'd better be right about this, Roan. I'm taking an awfully big chance disobeying orders." She didn't mention how many younger agents wanted her job because at least four of them were women and Roan might take it as a personal challenge.

"Trust me, Diane. Charles Bartowski is the most altruistic man on the planet. Complete honesty was the only way to go. He's got too much integrity to hoard your precious Intersect so he can impress dot-com moguls into paying him ridiculous fees to keep their internet shopping carts safe from hackers. Not when there are true patriot underdogs out there risking their lives to stop wars and terrorists and drug lords. I'm telling you, he's incapable of that much selfishness."

She smiled at his blatant overuse of clichés. He was adorable when he turned on the charm like that, but it wasn't quite enough to put her mind at ease. "He might go for removal. He spent two years trying to get the first one out of his head."

"Then he turned around and loaded the 2.0 by  _ **choice**_ , didn't he? Besides, there is no way he'll have it removed with Sarah's memory on the line. There's nothing he wouldn't do for that girl."

_Ha! You have no idea_. However, Chuck had also been quite adamant about keeping his sister and her family out of the CIA. Ellie Bartowski Woodcomb was a force to be reckoned with. They'd just have to wait and see. Diane drew a breath and let it out, letting calm return. Her voice was more sultry when she continued. "He asked about you."

Roan matched her tone with a come-hither one of his own. "Did he now? What did you tell him?"

"Only the absolute truth."

"You wicked minx, you. I really must have you give me a refresher course in handling assets."

"You want assets to handle? Pick me up at Dulles at 17:45 and bring your dinner jacket."

"Counting the minutes until then.  _Besos_ , my flower."


	4. Europe, Maybe? (Lester's POV)

Lester Patel felt bright light assault his retina through closed eyelids, stirring him from slumber, alcohol-induced coma, or possibly death by Covenant Elite.  ** _Ow_.** Was it day already? Or was some idiot shining light in his face? "Jeffrey?" he croaked. God, his mouth was dry.

The only answer he got was Jeff's lawnmower snore. Even with his eyes closed, Lester could triangulate his friend's position by that snore. Judging by the acoustics, Jeff was roughly to his left, and about two feet lower in elevation. He'd fallen out of bed, if indeed there were beds wherever this was.

"Jeffrey, where  ** _are_**  we?" Lester groaned, louder than the first time, and directing his voice toward the source of the sound.

Jeff had been a teetotaler ever since Chuck's bro-in-law got him detoxed from carbon monoxide fumes, so his guess at where they were right now was about 75% more likely to be correct than Lester's. Lester didn't want to open his eyes at all if the answer wasn't favorable. If they were in prison, they could just keep sleeping. Lester had that place  ** _wired_** , quite literally. No one there would dare bother them. If it was the cage at the Buy More, he might have to move before Big Mike found out. Actually, if it was the Buy More, chances were good the bright light was being shined in his face  _ **by**_  Big Mike, and it was too late to escape detection, and therefore not as essential to wake up. But if that was the case, Lester couldn't imagine Big Mike staying quiet all this time.

"Huh?" Jeff wasn't conscious either.

"Jeffrey! Oh wise and sober one! Where are we? Do we have to get up?"

A groan came as if from subterranean depths. "If it's Tuesday, this must be Belgium?"

"What? Did you snort your quinoa again?"

"Uhhh, Tijuana? Vegas?"

Vegas made a lot of sense, considering how wiped-out Lester felt right now. And if it was Vegas, he certainly didn't want to waste time sleeping. He let one eyelid budge itself open. If there had been a soundtrack to accompany this act of will, it would have sounded like a rusty hinge. The light was not artificial; it was sunlight, but it wasn't hot.  _Vegas would have air conditioning_. Lester opened the other eye.

Visual cues and the return of semi-consciousness served to fill in some of the blanks that last night's party and subsequent passing-out had left. Two Jeffster concerts. Huge crowds. Lots of screaming. It was all a whirlwind in his head. That German promoter guy (what was his name? Dieter? Dirk? Lester wasn't sure he ever got it) had them on an insane schedule. Get on stage and perform. Sleep here. Perform again. Ride this train. Perform again. Wear these clothes. Perform again. Mingle with these groupies. Perform again.

"Jeffrey, wake up. We're not in Vegas. We really should figure out where we are and when we have to perform again."

"Perform?"

"Yes, perform. Keytar. Singing. 'Scheffster' on tour. Any of this ringing any bells?"

Jeff yawned and stretched one arm into the air. "Weren't there supposed to be women—and men—adoring us? Where are the women? I want Anna Wu."

Lester shuffled to the window and looked out. It was dingy, urban grey, and cloudy. No palm trees. Anna was in Hawaii last they heard. This was  _ **so**_  not Hawaii. "She's a hemisphere away, my geographically-challenged friend. Come on, wake up. I need a better guess than Tijuana and Vegas. Maybe Belgium was the closest. Are we really in Belgium?"

"Are there signs outside? What language does it look like?"

Lester's sight was still a bit on the blurry side, but he tried to focus on the signs with the largest print. "Mario's. What is that, Italian?" Pizza sounded good right now.

"No, Mario was created by Nintendo. We must be in Japan."

Lester waved a 'forget it' swipe at him. Jeff was useless until he got some muesli and Greek yogurt in him. "Yeah, right. Japan. And we got here by train from Germany," he muttered on his way to the bathroom.

He had just emerged when someone knocked on the door. "Room serveece!" said a female voice with a heavy accent. What accent, Lester couldn't say. Maybe German. Maybe Dutch. Heck, for all he knew, it was Czech. He looked down at his state of dress: boxer shorts, possibly not laundered in a month. He grabbed a bedsheet and wrapped it around him. Better to let the lady think he slept in the buff. He ran his hand over his hair twice, smoothing down and getting it out of his face. Canadian Hin-Jews always had great hair.

He unlatched the hotel door and opened it. The lady with the accent was gone and a tray of food sat in front of the door on a squat little breakfast cart. It was just coffee and cinnabons—well, they were fancier than the ones back home, but seriously, weren't they all just glorified Entenmann's? He pulled the cart inside and pushed the door shut with his foot. "Look, Jeffrey, we've devolved into Big Mike."

Jeff was sitting up now, though still on the floor. "Big Mike five years ago," he corrected. "He hasn't touched a donut since hooking up with Morgan's mom." Bolonia Grimes Tucker was the walking punchline to one of the greatest jokes Jeff and Lester had ever played, albeit unknowingly, on Morgan. And the funniest part was that Morgan had helped them doctor up Big Mike's online dating profile in order to get that first blind date.

Lester sighed. "You're right," he said wistfully. "He's probably eating a Breakfast B.M.T. Melt right now." With a Subway  _ **in**_  the Buy More, it was practically guaranteed.

"Are you homesick?" Jeff asked.

"What? No! Me? Ridiculous." Which actually meant Jeff was spot-on.

"I miss my dog."

"You don't have a dog."

"I want a dog. If I can't have Anna Wu, I want a dog."

Lester chose to pass on the joke about comparing Anna to a dog. "You can't have a dog while we're on the road, living our dream."

"Being a rock star isn't what I thought it would be." Jeff eyed his pastry with disdain. "I don't like the food."

"Maybe we can find a Subway. This is Italy, right? Meatball Marinara subs. Essential to life itself. Surely they've put in Subways here."

"But can we leave the hotel? Aren't we supposed to perform somewhere? What if Dieter comes looking for us?"

"Dieter, Schmeeter. He doesn't  _ **own**  _us."

"But what if they don't speak English? We don't speak Japa—Italian."

Lester shrugged. "It's Subway. You point to the pickles and nod."

"What about money? Do we have francs or yen or whatever?"

Yen? When was he going to get the crazy idea of Japan out of his head? "Not to worry. Everything is euros now."

"Do we have euros?"

Lester frowned and shook his head. "No. Why don't we have money? We're big stars now. Our concerts are sold out. We should have money." They were going to confront that Dirty Dieter the next time they saw him. He definitely owed them money.

"We could always try what we did with Halo Reach."

"You mean be so annoying that they pay us to leave?" Lester took another bite of his fake Entenmann thing, brows furrowed as he contemplated. Jeff's idea had merit. A Meatball Marinara ought to be a lot easier to mooch than a copy of Halo Reach. "You're on, my friend. Get dressed. Time to feast." 


	5. Chicago (Ellie's POV)

Dr. Eleanor Woodcomb finished the last of her data input and exited Carlos Shuman Medical Center in search of her vehicle. She'd been there less than a week before she figured out her 'research' position had been nothing but a bogus lure to ensure Devon would have no reason to turn down head of cardio. They never wanted a husband-wife team. They wanted Devon. And in some ways, that was fine. She didn't really want to leave Clara for twelve hours a day, which was what it would require for her to accept a more prestigious post.

The air outside was already freezing—freezing being defined as any temperature requiring her to wear more than scrubs while outdoors—in other words, anything under 60 degrees. The worst part was, it was only October. She pulled her ski parka closer and shivered as she hurried through the parking lot. At least it wasn't raining at the moment.

She kept reminding herself how much she had hated Africa. No matter how cold she got, nothing would ever be as bad as the bugs and the snakes and the wretched conditions she'd endured while part of Doctors Without Borders. She would never tell Devon, but she thanked her lucky stars every day that he'd caught malaria and forced them to cut their commitment short.

Devon was so excited about his new job and the new house, and everything that came with moving here. How could Ellie complain about the cold or the fact her job was barely more than an over-inflated lab technician? It paid decently, but from what she gathered when sneaking around the hospital's financial database, they had simply offered Devon $10k less than the last Head Cardiologist and added that to what Ellie's job normally paid. Same net expenditure for the two jobs, but 'doctored up' to stroke her ego. Sneaky, but effective.

In truth, she missed her brother. It had been hard to leave him behind when everything was going well, like it had been when they went to Africa, but to leave him in the middle of a crisis felt like betrayal. And it  _ **was**_  a crisis, whether Chuck admitted it or not. Sarah's amnesia left him just as lost and alone as if she'd died, but without any of the socially acceptable grieving and sympathy he'd have been afforded had it been the latter.

Ellie made it to the Toyota minivan, silently cursing Chicago weather for forcing her out of her beloved Mustang convertible. She engaged the key and turned the heat up full blast.  _If this is October, what in the world am I going to do in January?_

The phone interrupted her musing.  _Chuck_. Ellie hit the button before the second ring.

"Hey, El, how's Chicago?"

_Be upbeat_. "Great. Devon just unpacked the last box and Clara is sleeping eight hours at night. How are  _ **you**_  doing?"

"Sarah spent the night last night—"

"Chuck, that's great!"

"...on the couch. She still doesn't remember, Ellie. She believes me, that I love her, that she once loved me, but it's not the same."

Ellie swallowed the lump in her throat. "I'm never going to stop looking for a cure, Chuck. I promise you—"

"That's actually why I called. General Beckman told me about your request."

"Oh, good. I wasn't going to hide it from you. I just wanted to wait until I got the CIA's answer to tell you about it."

"The answer, actually, is up to me. If I keep the Intersect, then they'll probably put you in charge of the whole project. You'll have access to all the data they've ever collected and you'll get clearance to collaborate with Dr. Dreyfus, our psychiatrist."

"You have a  _ **psychiatrist**_?"

"Uh, I may have been uh... committed, uh, to a mental institution. J-just for the weekend. That was back before Dad made me the Governor and fixed that little glitch—that little unstable-ness. B-but that's not the point. Dr. Dreyfus is a specialist on the Intersect and Beckman is ordering Sarah to see him too."

"Okay, that's great. So what's the problem?"

"I thought we agreed that the Intersect should be destroyed, El. That Dad would have wanted it that way. Isn't it just a little hypocritical of us to turn around and act like it's the greatest thing since wireless game controllers now that I have it instead of Nicholas Quinn?"

_Wireless game controllers?_  She shook her head. "Chuck, what are you talking about? If you don't want the Intersect, we can take it out. That won't have any effect on Sarah's cure."

"Yes, it will. Beckman says if I become de-Intersect-ed, that's the end of the whole project. All of it. They're gonna redact everything. They will come take Dad's hard drive."

"Let them. I can start over from scratch. They can't stop me from studying the human brain, Chuck. I'm a neurologist, and a damn good one, I might add. It might take me a little longer if they don't cooperate, but don't let them force you into doing anything you don't want to do. I can still help Sarah without the CIA."

"God, I love you, you know that?"

"What are sisters for?"

"For talking little brothers out of their hero complexes?"

"What?"

"Ellie, I wish Sarah and Morgan never uploaded the Intersect. It hurt them both and bad things happened. But I would never have met Sarah if Bryce hadn't sent me the first Intersect, and I know I'm being a hypocrite right now, but I don't want it taken out. Dad said I was special. As long as I have the Governor, I seem to be okay. I want to keep it."

"I don't think Dad would mind. Wasn't that why he had the password for you about one or eleven?"

"Oh my gosh, you're right. I forgot about that. That was after Mom used that suppression thing she found in our old basement. I guess Dad really  _ **did**_ want me to have the Intersect."

"So you're keeping it then?"

"I still have to talk to Sarah." His voice sounded sad and reluctant.

Ellie could remember when the prospect of talking to Sarah would light up his whole face better than a kid at Christmas. "Is she not talking to you?"

"No, we talk. It's just... she asked to rejoin the CIA without discussing it with me. She doesn't remember how much she wanted to quit the spy life. If she gets her memory back, I think she'll be mad at herself for jumping back in."

"Chuck, after Dad died, I made you promise to quit spying and that was a mistake. You and Sarah are both amazing spies. I've seen you in action. I would never pressure either of you to be spies if it's not what you want, but you have to let her follow her heart. I think if you do, her heart will inevitably lead to you, because she really did love you."

"That was the other thing we should talk about. If you get CIA clearance, it could mean some danger. That's why Dad left us, you know."

"I know, but Sarah is family, too. If Dad could give up so much to protect us, then I can live with a little risk. General Beckman promised me there would be safeguards. I wouldn't be a spy. I'd just be a researcher, barely different from what I do here, just with guards and locked buildings."

"And what about your new job? Do you have time for this?"

"If not, I'll quit Carlos Shuman. It's not nearly as exciting or interesting as our father's life work. I want to do this for Sarah, but I also want it for me. Dad's research is amazing and I don't want to see it lost."

"Thanks, sis." His voice had that tremor in it that meant he was losing a battle with tears. Sweet little Chuck, never afraid to show his emotions.

Ellie promised herself that if she didn't help Sarah get her memory back, she would insist Devon give up the Head of Cardiology and move them back to Los Angeles. The house was great, but it wasn't worth leaving Chuck like this. Somehow, she'd figure out a way to make it up to Devon. She inhaled and tried to sound upbeat. "Love you, little bro."

"Love you too."

The connection severed and Ellie stared out the windshield, into the cold, grey landscape. That pecan pie she bought yesterday better still be at home, and a gallon of ice cream too, because tonight felt like a major date with pie a la mode.


	6. Burbank Restaurant (Sarah's POV)

Sarah dressed comfortably for dinner. She didn't want Chuck to think she was trying to manipulate him with her body. It sounded like she'd already done plenty of that in the past. She'd been so good at it, Chuck didn't even realize it. From her mission logs, it appeared her motives had been genuine. At some point, she stopped trying to play him or use him like an asset. She fell for him. He became a goal she wanted and therefore used all her skills to acquire.

To be fair, she really did not know how to win a man without psy-ops training, seduction school moves, or feminine wiles. Chuck didn't seem shallow enough to have married her for looks alone, but besides her spy skills, what else did she really have to offer?  _Absolutely nothing_. This handsome, amazing man was in love with her even after she tried to kill him, and she just could not fathom  _ **why**_. Clearly, he was in love with that  _ **other girl**_  she used to be, but Sarah didn't know her, didn't know how to  _ **be**_  her.

Chuck was funny, warm, incredibly sweet, and so patient it was almost painful. But as much as she felt genuine affection toward him, she couldn't call it love. He was a friend rather than a stranger, but it was dishonest to make the jump to wife or even girlfriend. That was for that  _ **other girl**_ , the one who said "I do", not the present Sarah Walker, the one who was broken and confused and lost.

She'd been furious when that stuck-up old spinster of a general ordered her to go see a psychiatrist in order to get back to what felt familiar and normal. Langston Graham would never have sent her off to a shrink.  _ **He**_  had recognized her talents and utilized them to the maximum possible. If he were still alive, Sarah would be halfway to some important mission by now. But he was dead, just like Bryce.

So she'd dutifully reported to Dr. Leo Dreyfus. He proceeded to unravel her further by recounting an incident he'd had with her from the missing five years. At least she hadn't been the patient. Chuck had been the patient and she'd been a good partner, not discounting his intuition just because the Intersect was making him look insane. Dreyfus told her she'd had issues with telling Chuck her feelings. Well, she was going to tell him her feelings tonight and probably earn a divorce, but she'd never let some shrink tell her she didn't know how to keep her personal life properly compartmentalized. She was a consummate professional.

"Is this okay?" she asked Chuck, holding her arms out so he could see her choice of clothes was on the casual side.

"Sure, honey. You look great. I made reservations at Vinny's, but we can always go someplace else if you want."

Damn. What was she supposed to remember about Vinny's? Was it too fancy for yoga pants and a t-shirt? Did they celebrate some milestone of their relationship there once? Had she once seduced the headwaiter into giving them the best table? "I'm sorry, Chuck. I don't remember it at all. Is it a special place for us?"

"Actually, no. I didn't want to put any pressure on you tonight. We've only ever picked up take-out from them. It's usually pretty quiet though. I think we need to talk."

"I agree. Thank you for not taking me someplace where I'd just disappoint you for not remembering it."

"Hey, I occasionally do things right." It sounded like a joke. He didn't seem like a bumbler, so she smiled.

They had to take her car because Chuck didn't have one. He had always walked to work, or taken one of the Nerd Herders. One of his funny stories about the past was how he and Morgan lost a $900 clunker to a repo man. Chuck had been more interested in a Chinese dumpling menu they left in the car, than the car itself. She drove, but Chuck had to tell her where to go. It ended up being close to Maison 23, which was hard to believe hadn't been her home for several years now.

Vinny's was a homey little mom-and-pop Italian place decorated in red, white, and green, with a giant map of Italy and Sicily painted on one of the walls. The tables had red and white checkered cloths and tea light candles in those cheesy green globe things on top. Mandolin music played softly in the background, but at least she wasn't under-dressed.

Chuck ordered a medium vegetarian-no-olives pizza and two glasses of wine before they sat down. "Oh, wait. Sarah, is that all right? Did you want to look at the menu?"

"No. You already read my mind." Why was it so unsettling that he knew what kind of pizza or wine she liked? They'd been married, for goodness sake.

The waiter left and Chuck beamed a smile at her. "So, what had you in such a hurry this morning at the Buy More?"

She drew a deep breath. "I went to see Dr. Dreyfus. He said you've met."

He laughed. "Yeah, you could say that. He had me committed."

"You don't like him? He spoke very highly of you."

"Did he? Well, he's just being nice then. And yeah, I like him. I was going a little cuckoo before my dad made me a Governor. He had good advice and I wish I had listened to him." He took her hand. "But I was in the CIA then. Why did  _ **you**_  go to a CIA doctor?"

"My memory loss came from the Intersect and he knows about it. How many civilian doctors can say that?"

"Ellie can. You know she wants to help you. My dad gave her all his research. She probably knows more than Dreyfus at this point."

"Yeah, well, Ellie isn't here, is she?" It came out harsher than she'd intended. Ellie didn't owe her a damned thing. Sarah had kidnapped her at gunpoint and threatened to put a bullet between her eyes. Ellie had crashed her car to protect Chuck. She'd said she forgave Sarah, but it was probably just out of deference to her brother.

Chuck's eyebrows slanted and his jaw dropped. He looked genuinely hurt and speechless.

"Sorry, that was uncalled-for."

"No, you're right. She moved because I told her it was okay. I thought her new job was important to her, but she is more interested in my dad's research. She asked Beckman for access to all the CIA data and for clearance to work with Dreyfus. If you want to see Ellie, we can be in Chicago by morning."

Sarah sighed. No, she didn't really want to see Ellie. She'd been trying to deflect the real reason she'd seen Dreyfus. She took a quick sip of the water, silently cursing the waiter for not bringing the wine yet. Her words came out in a torrent. "That's not the only reason. Beckman ordered me to see Dreyfus because I asked for my old job back." There. She'd said it.

"Honey, don't you think it's a little too soon? You still don't have your memory back."

"I can't just sit around here and wait for my memory to come back, Chuck. I'm not Sarah Bartowski anymore and it's time we admitted I might never be that person again. I can't pretend for you. You're a great guy and you deserve better than that. So I'm doing the only thing I know how to do. I'm a spy. That's all I know."

"No, it isn't, Sarah." He paused, eyes darting back and forth like he was searching for words. "You could be a cake decorator. You did an awesome job on styrofoam for a sting operation we pulled. You could do that on real cakes. Birthdays, weddings, graduations, bar mitzvahs, quinceañeras..."

She didn't bother to hide her incredulous glare. "A cake decorator? Really? Maybe I could just work full time at Orange Orange for the rest of my life. Come on, Chuck. I couldn't stand the monotony." Not to mention the insignificance.

He couldn't argue with that, but he wasn't ready to give up either. "Okay, you want less monotony? How about a pilot? You flew a 747 over the middle of the Atlantic while you were here in Burbank. If you did it by remote control, you could do it in person. You could work for an airline."

"I'd probably be away from you even more than when I was a spy. Is that what you want, to get rid of me?" It was a cheap shot and she knew it, but she didn't know how to fend off his really good suggestion. She needed to win the argument.

"God no, Sarah. I love you. I want to be with you as much as I can. It's just that you didn't want this before the Intersect. If you join the CIA now, you might be sorry when you get your memory back, that's all. Airline pilots can quit any time they want, but you know it's not that easy with the CIA."

The waiter came with their wine and Sarah didn't have a good comeback, so she feigned interest in the pizza.

"Another ten minutes," the waiter assured her. "We make them fresh to order."

"Oh, good. I'm so hungry. Aren't you hungry, Chuck?"

"Yeah, sure."

She realized she hadn't fooled him one damn bit. She had to hand it to him; he did know her well. Chuck lifted his wine glass to his lips and drank. He set it down and looked intently back at her. "So what did Dr. Dreyfus say? Did he clear you?"

"I don't know yet. He's going to talk to Beckman."

"If you get cleared, I'll rejoin with you. At least we can be together."

"No. Don't."

"No? What do you mean? I'm your partner!"

"I wouldn't know how to deal with a partner who only uses tranq guns. I asked to go solo. I  _ **need**_  to go solo."

"Look, I know I was never a super-spy like you and Casey were, but I do have the Intersect again. We were a good team, Sarah. You, me, Casey. We were the best, the A-Team."

"But I don't remember that. This is as much for your protection as anything. We probably worked out all kinds of routines and nonverbal signals, but I won't know them and I could get you killed because of that. I can't be responsible for anyone else, least of all, you. I may not remember you well enough to love you, but I care about you. I don't want you to get hurt. I have to do this alone."

He sighed. His eyes looked sad and she hoped he wasn't going to cry again. Never had she seen a man's heart break with such raw emotion. She truly could not stand it. She plotted her escape route from the restaurant, just in case.

Chuck's voice was soft and timid when he spoke again. "Is there anything I can say to talk you out of this?"

"Not really. I wouldn't have gone to Beckman if I wasn't sure. I need to do what I'm good at, Chuck. I need to be get used to me, to feel comfortable in my own skin again, before I can even think about our relationship. For what it's worth, I'm sorry. I knew this would upset you and I didn't have the courage to tell you before I did it."

He sandwiched her hand between his warm and soft hands, touching her gently. "I've waited at home for you before, Sarah. I will support you in any way I can. If that means quarterbacking from Castle, I'll do it. If that means going home and staying out of your way, I'll do that. But please know you can call me for anything and I'll be there for you. Always."

"I know, Chuck. Thank you."

The pizza arrived, smelling heavenly and looking delicious. But before she could pull a slice onto her plate, both of their phones chimed a text alert. She checked hers and saw it was from Beckman:  _Video conference at Castle immediately_

Chuck sighed and then called across the room to the waiter, "Can we get a box for this, please?" 

 


	7. Back to Castle (Chuck's POV)

Silence descended as they drove to the Buy More. Chuck felt like he was losing Sarah again and he didn't know how to stop it. Part of him wanted to argue vehemently, to list all the reasons why she shouldn't go on a solo mission, to persuade her with overwhelming logic. Then he realized this was exactly like Prague, but in reverse. He had chosen CIA training over running away with her because he wanted to do more with his life than be a Nerd Herder or always hiding and running. He had a gift and he wanted to use it to maximum potential, to serve his country and help keep the world safe. He wanted to do great things.

It had taken her a long time to forgive him for that choice, but she had. How could he not allow her to make that same choice for herself? Sarah certainly didn't flunk out of spy school, like he did. She probably graduated top of her class, like superspy valedictorian. He still didn't have the faintest idea what she could do for Carmichael Industries if it was going to be an anti-cyberterrorism company, and that crack about cake decorating had been a complete shot in the dark. He couldn't realistically see her doing that. While airline pilot seemed worthwhile and practical, it also seemed like a huge waste of talent.

The only argument he could truly advocate was it simply being too soon. Unfortunately, she'd pretty much invalidated that by saying she might never remember. So with 'never' factored into the equation as a possibility (no matter how much he didn't want to accept it) where exactly could one delineate just how long she had to wait around for her memory to return?

His only hope was Dr. Dreyfus. He was a professional. If he said Sarah wasn't ready, then everyone would listen. Beckman wouldn't have sent her to Dreyfus in the first place if she wasn't prepared for Dreyfus to bench her. Beckman and Dreyfus could be the bad guys this time, making Sarah stay home and get some help. Meanwhile, Chuck could just be Mr. Loving Husband, holding her hand through this crisis. He crossed his fingers and kept his mouth shut, which was hard, but not impossible.

Morgan was still at work, so it didn't look weird for them to walk in, exchange a few words of friendly chit-chat, and then quietly disappear into Castle. "Sorry I only got two of your offsites done, buddy," Chuck said with a smile and a wave.

"You did my two biggest installs. Saved my bacon. Thanks, Chuck."

He really had intended to do more, but stuff just  _happened_  and he ran out of time. At least he hadn't totally left Morgan hanging this time. Morgan gave him a raised brow that said,  _What's up? Is there a mission? Can I go?_  to which Chuck simply shook his head and frowned. For once, Morgan took the nonverbal cue and kept his mouth shut. He really had learned a lot.

Sarah smiled and waved at Morgan and Big Mike, but she didn't greet anyone.

Chuck and Sarah sat at the conference table in front of the video screen. Casey's absence stung, but Chuck tried not to dwell on it. He didn't want this to be a mission briefing, so there was no reason to wax nostalgic.

Sarah barely waited for him to be seated before she hit the button connecting them to Beckman's office.

Even at this late hour for D.C., Beckman was dressed in her uniform, perfectly groomed, and sitting in the same position she nearly always was. "Good evening, Walker, Bartowski. Thank you for coming."

"No problem, General," Chuck said. "What's up?"

"I need to talk to both of you, but some matters might best be handled separately." Her gaze landed squarely on Sarah.

Psych stuff was private. Although he regretted keeping Dreyfus's diagnosis a secret when he had been the patient, Sarah should have the same courtesy. He started to stand.

Sarah placed her hand on his shoulder, but she didn't turn her head from the video screen. "That's not necessary, ma'am. I told Chuck everything."

It was hard to read the look on Beckman's face. She had one of the best poker stares in the world. Chuck wouldn't bet money on it, but he thought, for a second, he saw surprise flash in her eyes. Her voice was even and professional when she spoke: "All right, Walker. I just spent the last half-hour discussing your status with Dr. Dreyfus."

 _ **Half an hour?**_  Beckman was the queen of brevity. No, more like Empress or Czarina. She always wanted everything boiled down to the level of a Twitter response. That she could talk to anyone for a solid thirty minutes was nothing short of miraculous.

Beckman's voice interrupted his thoughts. "How about you, Chuck? You haven't given me an answer yet."

"My forty-eight hours aren't up, General. My answer will depend on what Dr. Dreyfus said, but I'm not keeping any secrets either. We can do this together."

"Very well. Walker, Dr. Dreyfus has cleared you for field work with two stipulations."

Chuck felt his heart drop about a mile and crash on the floor. Sarah looked happy. She was quick to respond: "What stipulations, General?"

"It is absolutely critical to your recovery for you to continue to spend time with people who had some sort of contact with you during your missing years. That means no solo missions for a while. Here is a list of agents who fit the doctor's requirements."

The monitor showed a short list of names. Bryce Larkin's name was on the list, but in slashthrough font and a 'deceased' notation. All the CATs were there, but Amy's name was in red slashthrough with 'held for treason' right after it. Daniel Shaw's name had the same treatment as Amy's. Chuck, Casey, and the Turners were all listed with asterisks and 'retired' in parentheses. Roan Montgomery and Chuck's mother were on the list as well as a name that surprised Chuck more than the others.

"C-Cole Barker?" Chuck questioned in a voice that came out way too high-pitched. "But he's not even one of us! He's MI-6."

"He's gone on record as saying he was willing to work with Walker, he had significant contact with her in her forgotten period, and there's at least three potential missions for which British intelligence could use some collaboration from us. Sarah, if you choose Agent Barker, I can't guarantee he'll be available, but I wanted to put that out there as an option."

Chuck thought he might just have a heart attack right there. Cole Barker was everything he wasn't. Cool, handsome, debonair, superspy, British, and he'd jumped in front of a bullet for Sarah—without a vest! And unlike Shaw, he'd never betrayed his country. Hell, he'd even protected  _ **American**_  secrets, including knowledge of the Intersect, while under torture. The man was like UltraBond and saint all rolled into one.

Chuck cleared his throat. "General, I want to state for the record I am willing to come out of retirement to be Sarah's partner." Maybe he could find Casey and see if he'd come back too. He'd done a little digging after he'd talked with Morgan.

"I thought you hadn't made a decision yet," Beckman said.

"I've decided to keep the Intersect, but I haven't decided whether to rejoin the CIA as a field agent or just a consultant. If Sarah needs a partner, the decision is made."

Sarah turned to him, lowered her voice, and spoke between clenched teeth. "Chuck, we discussed this. I'm not putting you in danger."

 _Oh, but it's fine to put **yourself**  in danger? _Two years ago, he would have said it out loud and argued right in front of Beckman, but it didn't seem like a good idea right now. He wouldn't force Sarah to be his partner. It had to be her choice.

"Zondra or Carina," Sarah stated loudly, now facing the video screen again.

The general gave her the patented eyebrow and frown of consternation, a combo that could even melt Casey. After a two-second glare, she put her reading glasses on and looked down at some papers on her desk. She looked over the top of her glasses and continued, "Zondra and Carina are currently undercover on a Saudi national's pleasure yacht in the Indian Ocean. We believe he's a major kingpin in a human trafficking ring."

"Great. Whoever it is, he could always use one more in his harem."

Chuck cringed at the idea of Sarah joining a harem. He knew she could do her job without entangling herself personally, but it was a degrading cover anyway.

"We can't just drop you in. His yacht has state-of-the-art radar and sonar. They'd see you coming and shoot you on sight. We'd have to wait for him to dock..." Her frown relaxed and something just barely short of a smile formed on her lips instead. "His last stop was in the Maldives two days ago, where he loaded enough supplies to last a month. We'll coordinate with the CATs and make sure you're waiting at the next port."

"A  _ **month**_?" Sarah practically exploded.

"I'm available immediately," Chuck said in a tone not unlike his helpful Nerd Herder customer service voice.

Sarah glared at him with that same look in her eyes as when she'd saved his life but left him tied to a post. Not amused. She turned back to the monitor. "What about Mary Bartowski?"

General Beckman removed her glasses, which made her bugged-out eyes even more prominent. "Am I to understand you'd rather go on a mission with your  _ **mother-in-law**_  than with your  ** _husband_**?"

"Who also happens to be the Intersect," Chuck added quickly.

Sarah didn't hesitate. "Yes."

Beckman swallowed her considerable shock, shook her head, and sighed. "Very well. Agent Bartowski is in Chicago right now, visiting family. You can fly out in the morning. The other stipulation Dr. Dreyfus made was that you get some neurological tests. Since Dr. Eleanor Woodcomb will be heading all Intersect research from here on out, collaborating with Dr. Dreyfus, she can administer the tests in Chicago."

Sarah made a decisive nod. "Done."

Chuck stared at the screen, mouth agape. He couldn't believe what just happened. Sarah was not only going on a mission without him, but she was going with his  _ **mother**_ , of all people. He was so flummoxed, he didn't know what to say.

The general looked at him. "Chuck, can you provide tactical support to your wife and mother from Castle?"

 _Okay, Chuck. This is not so bad. She's not going with the super sexy MI-6 agent or playing harem girl on a boat in the middle of nowhere. Mom will be there, and if I get to quarterback, that's the next best thing to being there._  He pulled himself together. "Yes, absolutely, General. I'll send all our best gadgets with Sarah."

"Good. If Grimes is willing, see if you can get his help, too."

Chuck blinked. "M-Morgan? You actually  _ **want**_  Morgan?"

Beckman smirked and shook her head condescendingly at him. "He's been an integral part of your team, hasn't he? He's proven himself useful as a good eye and a calm voice, and he has excellent rapport with Mary. I want him quarterbacking with you."

Sarah looked like she wanted to argue, as this was fast becoming exactly the opposite of the private little mission she'd had in mind. She didn't hide her irritation when she spoke again. "Why not pull in Casey, too?"

Beckman totally ignored Sarah's monumental sarcasm, and reacted as if she had been serious. "Excellent idea, Walker. Does anyone know where he is?"

Chuck faked a cough around the word, "Dresden," as if he'd accidentally divulged a big secret. "At least we think that's where he was headed. He was looking for Verbanski."

Beckman flashed Chuck that rare twinkle in her eye that said she was impressed with his spy work. Sarah elbowed him in the ribs, but she spoke to Beckman with guarded respect. "I was being sarcastic, ma'am. He retired for a reason. We should leave him alone."

"He's more than welcome to return at any time," Beckman said casually. "After Agent Walker completes her tests, I will brief everyone in Chicago and Burbank simultaneously. Castle is officially a CIA base again. If there's nothing else, I bid you both good night." She didn't wait for a response, but pressed a button in front of her. The screen went black.


	8. Dresden (Verbanski's POV)

Gertrude Verbanski was used to getting what she wanted. Sometimes it took a while and sometimes she had to sacrifice, but it was always a matter of 'when' or 'how', not 'if'. Case in point: Colonel John Casey. She'd had her laser sights on him for years.

There had been no point in trying to compete with the Marines or the NSA. John was a true-blooded patriot. She could see in his eyes that he'd given up women before in order to put his country first. Gertrude knew she could never lure him away from that kind of commitment. However, when that idiot Decker put a target on his back, soiled his reputation, and got him thrown out of the NSA, well, things had started to get interesting.

It was too bad he'd gotten mixed up with Ward and June Bartowski and their quaint little Spy Kids operation they called Carmichael Industries. What a joke, with their CARE acronym and their homey little predilection to put their enemies to sleep with tranq darts instead of real guns. Please. If John had come straight from the NSA to Verbanski Corp, it could have saved them all a lot of time and trouble. Oh well, that was all water under the bridge now. Carmichael was kaput, and once John no longer felt obligated to his old spy buddies, he was a free agent.

So he showed up in Dresden, playing coy, like he was just taking a short leave of absence from Burbank. He didn't want to look desperate and Gertrude respected that. She'd learned from South Beach that he had too much pride to live off her fortune as a kept man, or accept some cushy figurehead position that kept him out of danger. So she offered him a real job as a sniper and she used his skills as much as she could. The hardest part was making each assignment appear more dangerous than it really was, so he had the illusion of being more indispensable than he actually was.

Verbanski Corporation was no cheap rip-off of the Moscow Circus. She didn't take little three-man jobs. Those were the table scraps she discarded on the floor for the Carmichael pups and their ilk to scrounge up. Verbanski clients wanted impressive numbers of well-trained personnel, state-of-the-art weaponry, and plenty of redundant backups. That's what they demanded and that's what they paid premium prices to get.

Her employees took good care of her clients and they watched each other's backs. She had only lost four people in her whole history and she wanted to keep it that way. Otherwise, word got around that her operation was sloppy and soft, and that was one thing Verbanski would never be accused of. Besides, being over-prepared kept her Accidental Death & Dismemberment premiums manageable.

Outside of business, there was no doubt John was indispensable. The man was quite honestly the sexiest thing alive. Thoughts of him consumed her. He was a man of few words, and she understood that, even liked that about him. It wouldn't have been an issue at all, except she soon discovered he had plenty of words for his daughter, Alex, back in Burbank. His phone didn't buzz in business meetings nor did he answer it in the middle of sex. In fact, more than half the time, he didn't answer her texts at all. Still, the level of attention he gave his absent daughter was not a level his attendant lover was comfortable with.

Now, Gertrude finally understood why their relationship had been so impossible back in California. Alex probably kept her dad on a short leash. Poor John felt guilty because he missed her whole childhood, so now she was using that leverage against him, to force him to make up for the time he'd missed.

But Alex was no longer a little girl, dammit. She was a fully grown woman. Granted, her intelligence was a bit questionable for having moved in with that bearded midget, Grimes, but she'd graduated from college. She had decent friends, a good job, an apartment, and a mother within driving distance. Why in  _ **hell**_  did she need to keep texting her father on the other side of the globe two or three times a  _ **day**_? Why did she call him practically every other night?

John was never going to let the past go and give all his attention to Gertrude as long as this clingy daughter of his kept bugging him. Gertrude gave it a week to see if it would peter out, but it didn't. So she had a little informal chat with the electronic gadget experts at Verbanski Corp. She didn't name any names or give any details that would tip them off why she needed the information. She normally left this kind of work to her tech geeks, but John would never leave his phone where anyone else could get hold of it, so she would have to do it herself. Luckily, she was a damn good spy and this was such easy spywork, even that idiot Bartowski could have done it.

Gertrude waited until John was busy at the gun range. She opened his phone up and removed the processing microchip. She slaved the chip easily enough and programmed his phone so that any text originating from within twenty miles of Burbank would go through her phone first. If she approved the message, it would go through to his phone with no indication anyone else had seen it. She could even delay it so she could have her own phone put away by the time John's phone received the message.

Voice calls could be screened as well. She would wean him off of these much slower, making sure rejected calls ended up looking like spotty mobile service. Americans tended to assume eastern Europe was about twenty years behind and didn't have the tech to support advanced communications. Gertrude would bet money that Fraulein Alex would never give it a second thought when she got 'unable to connect' instead of Dad, on occasion.

The eventual goal was to make it so only John's outgoing calls would be successful. Alex would learn to wait for Dad to initiate calls and since John wasn't big on chit-chat, their contact would settle down to a more reasonable frequency—once every thirty to sixty days, perhaps. Flowers delivered on her birthday and a Christmas card with a hundred dollars and the girl should count herself damn lucky to have any contact at all. The trick was to gradually wean them away from each other, so John would never realize what a favor she was doing him. Gertrude was the queen of patience and she always got what she wanted. Eventually.


	9. Washington D.C. (Beckman's POV)

"Come to bed, Diane," Roan whispered seductively. He patted the freshly turned-down sheets beside him.

Still wound up from the video call to Burbank, Diane stepped out of her pumps and simultaneously pulled a hairpin to release the tight bun on her head. "Walker chose Mary. The mother-in-law! Are you sure this was a good idea? I should have just made her go with Chuck. He was ready to become a field agent on the spot. We  _ **need**_  the Intersect in the field!"

Roan reached over to the night stand and grabbed one of the two martinis that waited there. His deep brown eyes never departed from hers when he took a sip from the glass. He shook his head gently. "No, no, my flower. You want the whole team back, not just Chuck, yes?"

"Damned right I do! " She started unbuttoning the brass buttons of her uniform. "Bad enough to lose them separately, but as a team, they're greater than the sum of their parts. Before them, who ever thought an NSA agent, a CIA agent and a clueless college drop-out could work together at all, let alone amass a success record like they have? It's unparalleled!"

"Darling, it's not your fault the team broke up, you know." Roan's smooth baritone was wearing down her resolve to stew in her annoyance.

She sighed. "I know. I just feel responsible that it happened on my watch. We should have seen how Shaw was manipulating Decker, and we should have seen Nicholas Quinn was a threat."

"I know, I know... and someone should have assassinated Hitler before he started taking over Europe. We can't fix everything." He held out the untouched martini for her. "Come now, it's not as bad as it seems. If Sarah had really wanted to thumb her nose at Chuck, she'd have chosen the handsome, dashing male agent as her partner. It's a good sign she chose the mother-in-law. She's trying to prove it's all  _professional_."

Diane smirked. Cole Barker was just as much a padding to the list as the CATs were. She used her slightly nasal informing voice to say, "The handsome, dashing male is on assignment in Singapore."

"What? I haven't been there in years." Roan smiled widely and pressed the martini glass into her hand.

She took a drink and set the glass aside. It was good to have Roan here to talk her down. Now wearing only her undergarments, she sat on the bed and slid her bare toe over his knee and down to his ankle. She leaned in and used her husky voice to ask, "What would you have done if she'd chosen  _you_ , hmm?"

He waggled his brows at her. "I'd have been everything Chuck is not and made her miss him so much, she'd run home and beg him to take her back."

Diane smiled. "Good answer." Her lips connected with his for a passionate kiss.

.

* * *

.

The next morning, Diane slipped out of bed, leaving Roan asleep behind her. She needed to call Chicago before Sarah got there. She'd already arranged to have the Woodcomb's spare bedroom wired and set-up for encrypted video conferencing, so Ellie could collaborate with Dr. Dreyfus and keep Diane appraised with her research. It would come in handy for Mary to use when she was there as well. Diane wore only her uniform skirt and a clean white blouse when she made the call. Her hair was brushed, but not yet pinned up.

Mary's sleepy face squinted back at her. It was amazing how much she looked like Chuck when she just woke up.

"My apologies for the early hour, Agent Bartowski."

Mary rubbed her eyes and stretched. "No problem, General. What can I do for you?"

"Agent Walker has been ordered to report to Dr. Woodcomb for neurological tests, so she should be arriving some time later today."

"I'll tell Ellie she's coming."

"She's also there to meet with you. She chose you as her partner for her next mission because the psychiatrist wouldn't clear her for solo."

"Me? Are you kidding? What did my son say?"

Diane put on her best diplomatic face. "He was disappointed, but under the circumstances, it could have been worse." She didn't mention Cole or Roan. Maybe Chuck wasn't as worried about his wife partnering with a male agent as she assumed he was. Chuck could talk to his mother himself if he wanted her to know. "Is there a problem?"

"General, Sarah is my daughter-in-law and therefore my family. Beyond that, she risked her life and nearly killed Colonel Casey to rescue me from Volkoff and get me out of that Russian hellhole. If there's anything I can do for her, you can count me in."

"Good. I was hoping you'd say that. I will be teleconferencing with you and Walker and our Burbank support agents after Walker is done with her tests, but I wanted to speak to you alone first. Is the room secure?"

Mary ran her fingers through bed-head hair, glanced around the room, and then reached over to shut the door. "It is now."

Diane softened her voice and her hardass military mien. "I haven't decided where to send you yet. It depends on how long the tests take. However, you will have a secret mission. This is to be just between us, Mary. Off the record."

Mary raised an eyebrow and nodded cautiously. "Understood, Diane."

"It is Dr. Dreyfus's professional opinion that Sarah Walker Bartowski is not being completely honest with us, or herself, for that matter. She probably doesn't realize the full extent of it."

"If she confides in me..."

Diane shook her head. "I'm not asking you to break a confidence. I want you to be a good mother-in-law. Help her remember who she is. Help her find her way back to her husband and her friends."

Mary's voice hardened. "And to the CIA?"

"She came to  _ **me,**_ Mary. Chuck and I both discouraged her from rejoining so soon after this... incident." Diane paused a beat. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but wasn't it you who told me Chuck and Sarah would regret retiring this young?"

Mary drew a deep breath and let it out. "Diane, you should have seen them when Ellie and Clara came home from the hospital. Five minutes of baby-talk and they were running like we'd brought home the plague."

Diane smiled knowingly. "I know. They ran to me and begged me to send them out of the country and they didn't care how dangerous it was or if they had backup."

"They can't even handle aunt and uncle. There is no way they're ready to have a baby of their own."

"Agreed."

"But that doesn't mean they might not go back to private enterprise. If Sarah doesn't want to be a spy, I won't try to talk her into it."

"I'm not asking you to. I'm giving you permission to treat her as your family and not merely your partner. As long as it doesn't compromise national security, Sarah Walker takes priority over any other mission. Take care of her."

"I think you know me well enough to know I would have done that whether you told me to or not."

"You're right. But twenty years ago, someone in the CIA had  ** _you_**  disavowed and abandoned—probably someone you trusted to watch your back. I can't help but think you might have my job right now if that hadn't happened. Chuck, Sarah, and their team saved my life. You need to know I have  _ **their**_  backs, and yours too."

"Thank you, Diane."

She nodded. No more of this would ever be mentioned. "I need to speak to your daughter next."

"I'll go wake her up."

 _Time to be the general again_. Diane pulled her uniform blazer over her white blouse and fastened the buttons. She took another twenty seconds to secure her hair in its professional bun.

Ellie showed up wearing a bathrobe, but she looked more awake than Mary had. Probably came from being a doctor and the mother of a baby. "General Beckman, did I miss an appointment?"

"Not at all, Dr. Woodcomb. Your patient will be arriving today. Remember, you are now officially a CIA research scientist and the head of the Intersect project. That means you have every right to  _ **order**  _her to any tests you deem necessary."

"I don't think Sarah will give me any trouble."

Diane gave her the eyebrow. "You've never stood in the way of her job before."

Ellie planted her hands on her hips. "Like hell I haven't. Maybe Chuck didn't tell you how much I interfered with his life and the life of the girlfriend I thought worked at a frozen yogurt store, but I assure you, General, I have meddled **_plenty_**  in Sarah's life before."

Diane allowed a shadow of a smile. "Good. I didn't give you this job because you're Chuck's sister. I gave you this job because you're Stephen Bartowski's protégé. By the way, have you chosen your code name yet?"

"I want to be Andromeda."

The career spy was impressed. "You followed the constellation protocol started by Orion and Perseus."

Ellie grinned. "And I happen to love that Michael Crichton novel."

"Andromeda it is then. Dr. Dreyfus will be contacting you on this video line to collaborate. Don't contact him any other way until we have your lab set up. When he calls, you need to exchange a code phrase until you recognize him by sight and voice. One of you will say, 'Limits are only in the mind' and the other must answer 'We become our thoughts.' Can you remember that? You can't write it down or tell anyone else, not even your husband." Diane never understood why people called that man 'Captain Awesome'. He dabbled in supposedly 'difficult' sports to give himself an adrenalin rush, but when it came to true danger, he was actually more cowardly than Chuck.

"Limits are only in the mind. We become our thoughts. Got it."

"Excellent. Welcome to the team. I will expect regular updates on your progress. Beckman out."


	10. Berlin (Jeff's POV)

Jeff liked playing the keytar and he liked singing background vocals for Jeffster. He didn't mind the screaming crowds. It was no worse than the Buy More on Black Friday or on a game release day. It was just that all this performing and travel was so darned much  _ **work**_. He and Lester had avoiding work down to a science—a science they were like Nobel laureates at. If they ever put half as much brainpower and sheer determination into actual work as they did into finding ways  _ **not**_  to work, they'd probably be executives at Roark Instruments.

But where was the fun in that? Jeff was just too old for this rock star lifestyle. He wanted to get on stage twice a month, jam for an hour or two as the now world-famous cover band, and then go back to just being Jeff and Lester the rest of the time. He missed his van and his ferret and the job that only required one color of shirt and gave him two-hour bathroom breaks. Yeah, there was an occasional install or an afternoon spent fixing computers in the cage. But at his age, that was a lot less energy-consuming than all this go, go, go and perform, perform, perform, and living from a suitcase in motels where nobody spoke English.

He felt bad for Lester though. His Canadian Hin-Jew pal wasn't as old or as burned out on substance abuse and residual carbon monoxide poisoning as Jeff was. He couldn't abandon him to the obscurity of being 'Ster, with no keytar and no background vocals. This was Lester's dream, too, and he needed Jeff.

So when Lester suggested they break out of the motel or hostel or whatever this cage was called, to embark on a quest for edible food, Jeff was on that like white on rice. It was about time they showed Dieter Schmeeter who was boss. Jeff wanted to mention it might be a good idea to go find Dieter and ask about their money  _ **before**_  they went AWOL and broke contracts and whatever else was going to get them in deep doggie doo doo, but Lester might have second thoughts and that Meatball Marinara sounded way too appetizing to risk. They put on hoodies and sweat pants because it looked cold outside.

"Which way?" Lester asked when they were in the hall.

"Let's avoid the lobby. Dieter might have spies."

"Yes. Good. We're no dummies about spies anymore."

Jeff still wasn't sure if he believed that story about Chuck and Morgan and John Casey all being spies. Something had been going on with them for a long time and that secret base under the Buy More sure seemed to defy any other explanation. But really? Carmichael Industries? Who ever heard of private spies? Jeff suspected it was really just an elaborate LARP, like a Renaissance Faire. Chuck and Morgan built all that fake spy stuff to make their little underground gaming clubhouse look cool. They all pretended to be spies just like that one roommate candidate they'd invited home. Jeff had been crushed when he caught a glimpse of his driver's license and found out he wasn't a real king.

It was overcast outside. Jeff immediately dropped his Japan theory. Japan would have more funky asian characters on their signs. The signs here reminded him more of Wolfenstein games. "German," Jeff whispered to Lester. "We must still be in Germany or Austria."

Lester nodded, but it was hard to tell whether he believed it any better than he believed the Japan theory. That really wasn't fair; the only clue Lester gave him before was "Mario". Now they had a whole bunch of German signs.

There were a lot of people walking all over the place, even though it was cold and looked like it could rain. That was weird for Jeff. People in California drove everywhere, but they might come out to jog or ride bikes when the weather was good. No one would be out on foot or bike in this kind of sludge.

"Does anyone speak English?" Lester asked loudly to the street, enunciating each word. But people were passing way too quickly to listen.

"Spreckin zee English?" Jeff tried. He wasn't even sure those were the proper words. It may have come off an old episode of Hogan's Heroes.

Lester gave up asking for a translator and just started asking everyone he passed, "Subway?" or "Can you point us to the Subway?"

After a few odd looks, Lester whispered an aside, "They're toying with us. They know we're stupid Canadians...uh, and American."

Jeff shook his head and pointed at a set of German signs. "Can you even pronounce their language? We wouldn't know what they were saying if they came to Burbank."

"This is Europe. Everyone is supposed to speak English."

"Apparently not."

"Well, then why do they come to our concerts? We sing in English."

"Maybe it's like doo-wop. The words don't have to make sense if the music is great."

Lester couldn't argue with his logic. "Jeffrey, I am going to die if we don't find a Subway."

A pretty blonde turned at Lester's dire prediction.

"Subway?" Jeff asked her hopefully.

"Ah. Untergrundbahn," she replied. Which could have meant anything from "you utter moron" to "oh, I understand." She pointed in the direction of a sign with a big letter U on it.

Man, she was hot. "Gracias," Jeff said dreamily as she disappeared somewhere behind them.

Lester elbowed him in the side. "That's Spanish, you idiot."

"Merci?"

"French. Besides, she's already gone." Lester was more intent on following her directions than thanking her.

Maybe skinny guys lost all sense of priority when they were hungry. That was the only explanation Jeff could think of for Lester not wanting to stalk the extremely hot woman who had spoken to them. The sign with the U on it turned out to be beside a staircase leading down. Lester looked down and then back at Jeff.

"She sent us to  _ **the**_  subway, you know, the kind with underground trains." His voice had an edge of desperation in it. Heads were going to roll if he didn't get a Meatball Marinara soon.

Lots of people were headed down the stairs. So many that Jeff and Lester were having a hard time going against the flow.

"Let's check it out," Jeff said. "I've never been on a subway before."

"You uncultured swine, there's no food involved. It's just trains in tunnels."

 _So what?_ Jeff stopped trying to fight the crowd and let himself get herded down the stairs. He wanted to see a real subway. Lester might have been able to make it out, but he probably didn't want to lose the only person he knew in the whole country. He came down the stairs too.

Underground, there was a bit more room and they were able to extricate themselves from the stampede. All the people hurried toward the trains or the machine that said "Fahrausweise" on it. Right next to the machine was a map.

Jeff pointed the map out to Lester, specifically, the large letters across the top. "Berlin. I was right. This is Germany."

"Okay, so maybe they have a Wienerlicious?"

Just then, some Goth kid approached with a flyer in hand. Their flyer. Both of their faces were clearly reproduced in grayscale, along with "Jeffster" plastered across their chests. The kid studied them, then pointed and yelled, "Scheffster!" along with a whole string of German gibberish.

Jeff thought at first that it was cool to be recognized. This was what fame was like. People recognized you and adored you and wanted your autograph. But in the next second, he realized there was no escape. They were surrounded and the mob was closing in from all sides. These fans didn't appear to have American sensibilities for personal space either. People were jabbering in German, ooo-ing and ah-ing, and men and women both were grabbing at their clothes and pulling like they wanted stuff to get torn off.

"Jeff, we gotta get outta here," Lester yelled over the din of the crowd.

An escape route presented itself and without even saying a word, they both ran for the opening and right onto the train. They pulled their hoods over their heads and took seats in the very back. Lester found a magazine he could pretend to read, to keep his face hidden. Jeff grabbed something too. It appeared to be the U-bahn equivalent of the emergency information cards on airplane seats. He held it over his face, not paying any attention to what was printed on the paper.

They huddled close. No one bothered them with their faces hidden. People sat all around, and then the train pulled away from the station and whooshed out into the tunnel. They were on their way, but where they were headed, Jeff had no idea.


	11. Echo Park (Morgan's POV)

Morgan came home after a long day at the Buy More to find Alex wearing one of his t-shirts and nothing else. Well, maybe some cute bikini underpants were under there, but that hardly counted. She stood at the stove, stirring a steamy pot. Morgan sniffed the steam as he leaned in. She smiled and gave him a nice 'welcome home' kiss.

"Mmm, that's good. And the food smells great too. Is that chicken?" He stood on tiptoe and looked over her shoulder, trying to see what dish might be making this heavenly aroma.

"Yes, it's chicken." She bopped his nose with two fingers. "No peeking. It's a surprise."

He scoffed. "You just told me it's chicken. How can it be a surprise?"

"Because it's not  _ **just**_  chicken." Holding the wooden spoon like a sword, she shooed him backwards. "Now out!"

He raised his hands and retreated. The sooner she got back to cooking, the sooner he could be eating this delicious not-just-chicken dish. Alex wasn't a bad cook, but she usually stuck to simple things like they'd served in the diner where she'd worked her way through school. Morgan could make some fancier stuff, and he wasn't bad, as long as he didn't have to flip shrimp on a hibachi grill. However, he saved anything time-consuming for his days off or special occasions. Wait. Was this some special occasion he'd forgotten?

"Please tell me it's not your birthday."

She laughed. "No. I'm not cooking on  _ **my**_  birthday. Yours, maybe."

He shook his head. "It's not my birthday. Anniversary? Did I miss something?"

She shrugged. "Nothing I'd expect you to remember. Just three months since we got back together."

 _After the bad breakup_. The brain-melting Intersect. The frosted tips. Bo Derek. And the dump-by-text.

"Aww. Three months since you forgave me for being the biggest ass on the planet and now you're cooking me something yummy? You're the greatest."

She grinned. "And don't you forget it."

He shook his head vigorously. "I won't. So how was your day?"

"It was good. I got them all eating out of the palm of my hand. Did you find any new Nerd Herders yet?"

"No, not yet. Chuck's been helping me out, but we haven't found anyone to replace Jeff and Lester."

"I can't believe they're gone."

Morgan found it hard to believe too. They were terrible employees, but between the two of them, they usually got enough work done to justify their incredibly low pay and no benefits. The Buy More didn't seem the same without them. "Yeah, but on the bright side, one part-time college student can probably cover their two full-time jobs."

"How is Chuck doing?"

Morgan shook his head. "Not good. Sarah flew off to Chicago without him early this morning. He's been kind of mopey."

"Is he home? Why don't you invite him to dinner?"

"Are you sure? I don't want to spoil a three month anniversary." Even if it was an awkward anniversary to explain.

"It's no big deal. I know he's your best friend. I kind of owe him too. If it weren't for Chuck, I might never have met my dad." Her face fell a little.

"You miss your dad," Morgan observed. He immediately wished he hadn't stated the obvious.

Alex sighed. "Yeah. He's got his own life now."

"You know he still loves you, right?"

She nodded, but it didn't look very convincing. "I didn't think it was going to be this hard. I thought he'd still text me and stuff."

"What, he cut off contact?" Did Verbanski send him on some dangerous mission and leave him stranded? Casey could live inside of walls, hidden attics, or a rat-infested basement for weeks at a time, but why would he ever have to do something like that in a private company? Morgan had worked for Verbanski for a couple of weeks and he had some idea of the kind of work they did. This didn't fit.

"Well, not exactly. He used to save up all my texts for the day and answer them all at once. It was our private joke. I'd get this text at 3AM that said, 'Yes. Fat chance. Because he's a numb-nut. Double coronas. Hell no. If he does, I'll shoot him. Love you, too.' They were hilarious all strung together. But he just started ignoring half my questions. I mean, I know they were dumb. I made them dumb on purpose because it made the answers funnier. But this morning all I got was, 'Get in line. Love, Dad.'"

Morgan frowned and shook his head. John Casey would just as soon growl as talk to most schmucks, but none of his extreme social barbarism ever applied to Alex. "Did you try asking him about it?"

She smirked. "Oh sure. 'Hi Dad. How's it going? Are you staying safe from fanatical hit men, international terrorists, and black market arms dealers? Oh, and why didn't you mention your favorite peanut butter the last time you texted me?' It wouldn't be funny anymore if I nag him about it."

Morgan nodded, keeping his thoughts private. Maybe Casey would snap out of it. He headed to the door. "I'll just go ask Chuck about dinner then."

"It's gonna be ready in ten, so tell him to hurry."

Morgan knocked once. He would have waited for an invitation if Sarah was there, but he knew she was already gone. He opened the door and stepped inside.

Chuck looked up from the sofa with that same glazed look in his eyes as when he lost Sarah the first time. No beard yet and no cheese balls, but the eyes were the same. "Oh, hey, buddy. Come on in." At least he didn't sound that bad.

"Hey. Alex is making some cool thing for dinner and asked me to invite you over."

"What cool thing?"

"Uh, she wouldn't say. It's a surprise. Come on. You have to eat. Whatever it is, it's got to be better than something in the fridge that you have to microwave."

Chuck appeared to consider this for a second. Morgan made ready to argue with him if he tried to decline. "You sure I'm not a third wheel?"

"What? Heck no. Besides, even if you were, it can never be as bad as when I was  _living_  with you and Sarah. No, come on. It was her idea. You'll insult her cooking if you say no."

"Well, all right." He stood. "Hey, I forgot to tell you. General Beckman asked if you would help me quarterback on Mom and Sarah's mission."

"Beckman asked for  _ **me**_?"

"By name, buddy. Is Alex okay with you hanging out in Castle? No guns. No danger. Just watching the video feeds and keeping the field agents calm. Although Mom and Sarah probably don't need the calm part as much as I did."

He waved his hand dismissively. "Alex? Yeah, of course."

"So I can talk about it in front of her?"

"Just as long as you emphasize the 'no guns, no danger' part. I think she's worried enough about her dad."

"Casey?" Chuck scoffed. "That's ridiculous. Verbanski probably gave him a whole gun locker full of explosive toys by now."

Morgan forced a chuckle. "Yeah, do you think she lets him bring his AK-47 to bed?"

"They probably have a contest to see who can wear the most and still make love without hurting the other."

"Wait. How do you know this? Do you and Sarah...?"

Chuck grinned and arched a brow in that 'I have sex secrets' way that all guys recognized. "Let's just say concealed weapons can make things... interesting."

Morgan could see the hurt lurking just under the surface of the humor. They had to stop talking about Sarah or this could get very depressing, very fast. He clapped his tall friend lightly on the back as they moved toward the door. "Do me a favor and don't mention that to Alex. She's a ninja at self defense. I'm already at a disadvantage as it is. If she starts strapping on knives and nunchuks, I am so dead."

Chuck laughed. "No worries, buddy." He looked down at his Nerd Herd shirt and tie. "Should I change my clothes?"

"What? No way. Alex might not recognize you wearing anything else."

"Ha, ha."

"No, it's fine. She did say to hurry though. We don't want it to get cold."

Chuck caught the hint and didn't stall any further. Morgan opened the door to his own apartment and breathed in that chicken-y aroma, even stronger now. "Oh my gosh, what is this, Alex? You're killing me."

"Chinese dumplings! I got the recipe off the Internet." She carried a big platter with enough dumplings for eight people.

The three of them sat down to eat. They were the strangest Chinese dumplings Morgan had ever tasted, but also the best. The filling was more like chicken pot pie than anything Chinese, but it wasn't wrapped in pie crust. It was definitely Chinese dough and boiled.

"Do you like it?" Alex asked.

Morgan held up his finger while he chewed the last bite. "No. I  _ **love**_  it."

"They're good," Chuck added with a nod to Alex. Morgan couldn't tell if it was true love or just being polite, but he ate quite a few, so he definitely didn't hate them.

Morgan ended up eating half the platter by himself. He would have eaten more if not for needing to share. He would tell Alex to make a double batch next time whether they had dinner guests or not.

They chatted a bit, but Chuck's heart clearly wasn't in it. He excused himself early. "I don't know when that mission briefing might be. Chicago is on central time, so it's two hours ahead of us. I might be calling you at 5 AM."

"Five?" Morgan gasped reflexively. He reined in his shock and aversion for getting up that early. "Come haul me out of bed if you have to, Chuck. I'm there for you, buddy." He whispered quickly to Alex, "Just quarterbacking from Castle. No field work. Promise."

She smiled up at Chuck. "In that case, if he doesn't get up when you call,  _ **I**_  will shove him out of bed."

Chuck smiled back in a surprised sort of way and then looked at Morgan as if for confirmation. Morgan just shrugged. "I told you. If she had nunchuks, I'd be dead."

 


	12. Video Conference (Chuck's POV)

The call from Beckman didn't come at 5 AM. It didn't even come by 8AM. Chuck glared at the clock whose evil red LED numbers were clearly to blame for the silence of his cell phone. Too bad he couldn't nail that pompous piece of electronics with a throwing knife like Sarah could. Intersect flashes didn't generally indulge his petty annoyance with inanimate objects. That was why the clock was on his side of the bed. So he could shut it off before pre-caffeinated Sarah silenced the evil demon permanently and they had to buy another evil demon to replace it.

So the mission briefing probably wasn't happening in the morning. On the one hand, that probably meant Ellie was being thorough with those neurological tests for Sarah. Thorough was good. But on the other hand, it meant Chuck didn't have any excuse not to get up and start another day as a Nerd Herder.

He didn't mind helping Morgan out; heaven knew how many times Morgan had covered for him. Nor did he find it difficult or degrading to work on computers. Unlike life, computers were predictable. Not reliable, but predictable even in their unreliability.

He no longer despised the Buy More as he once had. It had served as a great cover and it kept their fledgling Carmichael Industries afloat when Decker froze all their assets. If only the chintzy aisles of green and yellow didn't hold so many bittersweet memories, it would be a pleasant distraction to keep his hands and mind busy while he waited for the call.

He got to the apartment's courtyard first, but only because Morgan and Alex were standing in their doorway, making out like a couple of high school kids. Chuck was truly happy for Morgan, but right now, all their passionate PDA was another reminder of what he missed. Thankfully, they cut it short and Morgan joined him before Chuck had to resort to the 'Hello? I'm standing here waiting' fake cough.

"Did General Beckman call yet?" Morgan asked.

"No, not yet," Chuck said, trying hard to keep his tone and his face neutral. "I'm going to stick to on-site repairs today though."

"You're doing more of my Nerd Herd repairs? Wow, thanks, man. Did you eat? If we hurry, we can beat Big Mike to the Subway line." They started out.

"Sounds great, buddy." Good thing he didn't try to put a Pop-Tart in his stomach already. A breakfast sandwich would be a lot more nutritious, not to mention tastier.

They ordered food, but Morgan got called away to handle some issue with the microwave oven displays. Chuck got a takeout bag and left Morgan's food in his office. He took his own food back to the cage and ate while he fixed computers. It was quiet back here. Nobody bothered him except an occasional green-shirt looking for the last hot pink iPod before they'd be telling customers it was only available in slate gray.

He lost all track of time, buried in motherboards and laptop guts. He'd fixed six or seven different units before his cell finally buzzed. Never had he been so relieved to see Beckman's grouchy picture on his phone. "Yes, General?"

"I just got word that our Chicago agents will be ready for video conferencing in 15 minutes. Are you and Mr. Grimes close to Castle?"

"We're already at the Buy More."

"Good. Conference will be in fifteen minutes." She cut off communication before Chuck had a chance to say anything else.

Chuck signed off on the last repair he'd done, threw away his Subway trash, and locked up the cage behind him. He found Morgan in the manager's office, chatting with Big Mike. Chuck didn't mean to listen in, but it sounded like Big Mike said, "Bolonia" which meant he was talking about Morgan's mother and very likely making Morgan feel uncomfortable.

Chuck waved from outside the open door. "Hey Morgan. That health insurance guy is here to see you. He said to meet him at the Orange Orange. He's crazy about yogurt."

Even with the beard, it was plain to see the relief wash over his best friend's face. "Thanks, Chuck. Sorry, Big Mike, gotta go." He rushed to get around his desk.

Big Mike crossed his arms over his chest and smiled with pride, like he was somehow personally responsible for Morgan's accomplishments as store manager. "I'll hold down the fort," he promised.

Morgan sighed with relief. "Saved me again, Chuck. I mean, I know I need Big Mike. He runs the Buy More when I'm not here and we both know I disappear a lot—not as much as you, but you're not the manager. I get it that my mom loves him, but why does he insist on bragging about his sexual escapades with _ **my mother**_?"

Chuck grinned. "Probably because he knows how much it bugs you."

Morgan shuddered, which was a bit comical to watch because he was so short that it shook his whole body. "Damn straight it bugs me."

Chuck wanted to rub it in, but any talk of sex was just a bit too close to sensitive right now. Besides, he understood the feeling. He'd lived with Ellie and Awesome and seen and heard things he was never quite able to scrub out of his mind. He patted Morgan on the back and checked to make sure Big Mike wasn't watching them. The Orange Orange was no longer the best way to get into Castle, since Sarah wasn't working there. The Buy More employee locker room was still good, but it was too close to the manager's office. They would need to use the home theater entrance.

The coast was clear. They slipped into the home theater and disappeared down the trap door into Castle. It was eerie how quiet it was now, with just the two of them there. No Casey cleaning guns. No Sarah sitting at the table, doing her paperwork. Chuck even felt a momentary twinge of nostalgia for the Gretas who'd once been so abundant.

After the lights, he turned on the computer system and the video conferencing software. He checked the line to be sure it was properly encrypted for the kind of briefing they planned. He took a seat at the table and nodded encouragingly at Morgan for him to do the same. Morgan placed his hands in his lap while Chuck folded his atop the table.

They sat in silence a few seconds before Chuck got uncomfortable. "Did you get your breakfast sandwich I left in your office?"

"What? Yeah, thanks. Some meatball microwaved a dead mouse until it exploded."

He chuckled. "That sounds like a Jeff and Lester prank. Do we know who's taken up their mantle?"

"Not yet, but Big Mike's on the case, checking the security cam footage."

"So what's the standard penalty for mouse exploding?" Chuck didn't care that much, except to keep the silence at bay.

"First we want to find out where he—or she—got the mouse. No points for pet store, but if they're good with traps, we'll let 'em off with cleaning the mess and becoming the new rodent eliminator in the break room."

"Rodent eliminator?"

Morgan nodded and lowered his voice. "Turds have been spotted."

"You mean, other than the employees." Chuck put enough jesting tone in his voice that it couldn't be mistaken for serious. They both had been Buy-Morons before being owner and manager, so they both felt completely entitled to hurl insults as an in-joke.

This particular joke didn't faze Morgan one bit. He nodded and said, "Yeah, too small to be employees."

"That was a joke, buddy."

"Oh? Yeah, of course."

Chuck wasn't sure if Morgan saw the irony or was just playing it cool. But before he could say anything else, the video screen activated. General Beckman sat in her usual spot, wearing her uniform and looking very professional and governmental.

"Good morning, Burbank," she said pleasantly. "Let's get this started." She pressed a button on her desk and the screen split to show Beckman on the right side with "Washington DC" spelled across the bottom. "Chicago" labeled the right-side video feed, presumably from Ellie's house, but since Chuck had never been there, he couldn't be sure.

"Hi, Sarah; hi, Mom," Chuck said brightly, earning a scowl from Beckman. Mom smiled back and winked at him. Sarah nodded with a close-lipped smile, but she looked embarrassed that he'd recognized her or taken the time to say hello.

"I think we're all acquainted," Beckman said in her scolding voice. She pressed another button and her face disappeared from the Washington feed to be replaced with a surveillance shot of a Caucasian male riding in a beat-up jeep 4 x 4. What little background they could see was filled with trees. Beckman narrated while leaving the photo visible. "This is Dr. Nikolai Rodchenko."

Chuck's eyes twitched as he felt the surge of data from the Intersect. Images of agricultural laboratories, page after page of genetic maps, test tubes, and photographs of thousands of seedlings growing in artificial light. He blinked and shook his head tightly. "He's a plant geneticist. They call him the Russian Mendel. He's worked nearly all of his life for the Ministry of Agriculture, developing hardier, more prolific strains of various grains. He lives in St. Petersburg."

Beckman switched the video back to her camera. "Not anymore. That photo was taken yesterday in an Argentinian jungle. We believe he is now living in a huge underground bunker facility, 200 kilometers from the nearest village."

Sarah frowned. "Why would a Russian agricultural scientist suddenly move to the middle of nowhere in Argentina?"

"That's exactly what we'd like you to find out. Dr. Rodchenko didn't have the means to do this on his own. Someone else built that bunker and then financed his relocation."

"Do we have any idea who?" Mom asked.

"It's all speculation, Agent Bartowski, but you know more Russian underground figures than anyone else in the CIA. We're hoping you can find out who is paying the bills and why they hired Dr. Rodchenko."

The lady agents nodded. Sarah asked, "How are we getting there?"

"You'll take a commercial flight to Buenos Aires and then transfer to a small plane for airdrop. Mr. Grimes, you will coordinate with our field office in Buenos Aires to make sure Agents Walker and Bartowski have everything they could possibly need packed in two backpacks and waiting for them on that plane."

Chuck wondered how Beckman knew about Morgan's excellent foresight in packing for missions, right down to the Tide-to-Go he'd strategically placed in Chuck's pocket when he planned to propose to Sarah at a French château. Maybe Casey had mentioned it.

Morgan looked contemplative, like the gears in his head were spinning. "General, do they need camping gear?"

For once, Beckman didn't seem to mind the interruption. "Not if they land their parachutes close enough to the bunker and are able to get in."

Morgan sounded really excited when he spoke again, this time to Mom: "Mrs. B, how much weight do you think you can carry? Just ballpark. Ever bench-press?"

Now the general was definitely annoyed. "They're jumping out of a plane and hiking through a jungle! There will be no pack mules. It is your job to prioritize the equipment so they don't have to carry any extra burden."

Morgan nodded vigorously and looked down at the table when he spoke again. "Yes, ma'am. Only what they need." He looked up at the screen again, specifically to the Chicago side. "No extra burdens, I promise."

Mom winked at Morgan, but Sarah didn't react. If she couldn't remember Morgan, she had to think his involvement in the mission was stupid and superfluous.

Beckman relaxed her voice. "Chuck, I'm sending you all our satellite and infra-red images of the bunker. See if you can flash and figure out the best way for them to get inside." She hit a key on the computer in the background, probably sending the images through encrypted email.

"Done, General," Chuck said.

"Any questions?" Beckman only waited a second before deciding there were none and resumed her talking. "Ladies, your flight leaves O'Hare in two hours. Good luck." She pressed a button and her image disappeared.

Chuck looked at two of the most important women in his life staring at him from the video screen. He produced a nervous grin. "So... Argentina. That's... cool, right?"

"Morgan," Mom said urgently but with full motherly sweetness, "Don't you worry about the burden. Sarah and I are both strong. You be sure and tell them to pack us plenty of weapons, mosquito net, and anti-malaria pills."

"W-Weapons, Mom?" Chuck tried to keep from chiding his mother. She  _ **was**_  a spy, after all.

His mother gave him a serious look. "Yes,  _ **weapons**_ , Chuck. General Beckman is right, I know a lot of Russian bad guys, but I also know Alexei killed the majority of his competition over the last twenty years. So it's either someone good enough to elude Volkoff  _ **and**_  his entire Hydra network, or it's someone so new that he's a wildcard. Both of these options are bad."

Now Chuck really wished Casey were going. Sarah, however, had already balked at calling him. It was not a good idea to bring up anything that would result in Mom and Sarah fighting with each other before they even got on the plane. They needed to bond and have some good chats to help Sarah regain her memory. Beckman would have made them take someone else if she thought they needed it.

"You both be careful. If it gets dangerous, call for extraction, all right? We can always try again." Chuck knew that wasn't always true, but this plant guru guy didn't really sound important enough to risk lives over, even if Volkoff himself had been behind hiring him. Maybe the Argentinians just wanted someone to develop a better wheat.

"We'll be fine, honey," Mom said. "I need to go pack. Ellie said she would call you after she drops us off at the airport."

"Sure, Mom."

She stepped out of the picture. Morgan was already on a computer, looking up climate conditions in Argentina.

Chuck was alone with his wife—well, as alone as one could get when she was hundreds of miles away. "Sarah? Did the neurological tests go okay? How do you feel? You've been so quiet."

"Have I? I'm a little tired, but I just haven't felt the need to talk much. It's a pretty straightforward mission. Infiltrate. Gather intel. Report back and wait for instructions."

"You sure? What about the tests? What did Ellie say?"

She shrugged. "Ellie said she has a lot of data to analyze. I think it will be a while. But there wasn't anything that would make it unsafe for me to go on this mission. Please don't worry."

"Sorry, I can't help it." Chuck gave her a weak smile. "I don't care if you don't remember me, Sarah. I still love you. Just come home safe and we'll take the memories as they come."

Sarah smirked. "Well, I sure don't intend to live in the jungles of Argentina, so don't leave me stranded there."

"Deal."

Sarah looked somewhere off camera. "I gotta go now. We'll talk later, okay?"

"Okay. Bye."

The screen went black.


	13. Castle, Pre-Mission (Chuck's POV)

Morgan dove into preparation mode with zeal. In a way, he'd been groomed for this kind of work his entire life, planning quests for D&D, mapping out elaborate attack strategies on butcher paper for Call of Duty, and helping Chuck with off-the-record missions like finding his mom and proposing to Sarah. Chuck had assumed at first that Beckman invited Morgan mainly to be his babysitter (because of his admittedly fragile emotional state) and Chuck had welcomed him in that role, but that was selling his best friend short. The bearded one was truly gifted at this.

Chuck opened Beckman's email and pored over all the satellite and infra-red images of the bunker. He flashed on something about the shape and got the name of the manufacturer, which led him to the website where they had kindly uploaded various floor plans for perspective buyers. Cross-referencing the photos with the floor plans, he got a match and sent it to the printer, then he sent copies to Mom's and Sarah's phones. It was always nice to have a floor plan when you entered a building.

He had just finished spreading the blown-up version of the blueprint out over the conference table when his phone finally rang. Ellie's picture came up. He turned away to take the call.

"Hey, sis."

"I got Mom and Sarah dropped off at the airport. How are you holding up?"

"Me? I'm sitting around doing nothing except when I can make myself useful at the Buy More. How are Devon and Clara?"

She sighed. "I hardly see Devon anymore. He's always at the hospital. But don't change the subject. How are  _ **you**_?"

"I haven't touched a cheese ball and I shaved this morning."

"Good. Don't give up. I just got started. In fact, one of the reasons I called was to tell you I'm flying back to L.A. tonight on the redeye."

"What? Ellie, you can't leave your new job and your family."

"I quit Carlos Shuman this morning. They didn't even ask why. DARPA is paying me almost as much to head up the Intersect Project, and I can do most of the work from home as long as I store all the data on secure government servers. They took Dad's hard drive so there's nothing dangerous in my house. I can be with Clara more this way, which I need because we haven't been able to find a nanny yet." There was a touch of resentment in her tone, like maybe she thought Devon wasn't doing enough as father.

"If Devon's busy and you don't have a nanny, how in the world can you come to Los Angeles?"

"I'm bringing Clara with me. Babies are portable like that." He could hear the smirk in her voice.

"Well, you know I miss you, sis, but please tell me you're not doing this because you feel like you have to take care of your little brother. I  _ **am**_  all grown up, you know."

She scoffed. "Chuck, you're doing as well as can be expected under the circumstances. This is a business trip. Dr. Dreyfus has some things I need to see in person and I need to run some tests on you."

"T-tests? On me?"

"Yes. I ran tons of tests on Morgan while you were in Japan, but he had already been de-Intersected. I need to get some baseline data for how the brain is different when an Intersect is present and working. The only data the CIA has is for that time when your Intersect was suppressed and they were trying to get it working again."

Oy. The month of poking, prodding, and being a guinea pig, followed by Agent Rye and his Pure Fear of Death therapy which ended in Rye's actual death and Chuck getting kidnapped by the Belgian. "As long as it doesn't involve ninjas in my bedroom or hanging precariously from an aerial tram."

"Chuck, what are you talking about?"

"Never mind. What time should I pick you up from the airport?"

"In what, the Nerd Herder?"

"Sarah left her car. I'm sure she won't mind if I use it."

There was an awkward silence, no doubt Ellie questioning his assumption, but not sure if she should argue. "Um, okay. We're arriving at Bob Hope at 11:47."

"And you'll be staying with me, right? I never did convert Morgan's old room into a gaming theater. It's still got a bed. We may have to figure out something for Clara though."

"I'm bringing a portable crib. Even if I stayed in a hotel, I wouldn't want her sleeping on a public mattress."

"Do I want to know why? Is it bedbugs or baby snot or something like that?"

"Actually, more like germs. I'm a doctor, remember? I know they don't even do a fraction of the sterilizing they should in a hotel."

"Ah, yes. Germs. Good point. Do I need to go get anything? Formula? Diapers? Smooshed peas?" Was Clara even eating solid food yet? He had no idea.

She chuckled. "Nope. I'll bring everything we need. It'll only be a few days. That should give Devon enough time to think about his priorities."

"Oh ho ho. So it's not about me or the Intersect, it's about making Devon miss you?"

"Maybe," she said; however, her tone said 'definitely'. "But I really do need to see Dr. Dreyfus and run those tests."

"I have to run tactical support for Mom and Sarah once they get to their classified location."

"Chuck, I took them to the airport. I know they were going to Buenos Aires." And if she wasn't rolling her eyes right now, he'd be surprised. "But that's fine. I can do everything from Castle, just like I did for Morgan. I won't keep you from anything important."

"Okay, well, great then. I'd love having you. You and Clara. Both of you."

"See you tonight."

"I'll be there. Love you, sis."

"Love you, little brother."

Chuck put his phone back in his pocket.

"Ellie and Clara are coming home?" Morgan asked.

Chuck swiveled around and studied his friend. Morgan had been so intent on his work, it was amazing he even heard the phone ring.

"You said my name," Morgan explained in answer to his questioning look.

"I did. She and Clara are going to stay in your old room. It's just for a couple of days. She needs some tests off an active Intersect."

"Awesome's not coming?" His tone was matter-of-fact, guarded.

Chuck shrugged. "He's Head of Cardiology for a huge Chicago hospital."

Morgan shook his head. "Not awesome."

"I think that's how Ellie feels, too."

"Well, you tell her I said hi. I don't think I'll be leaving here much until your Mom and Sarah are done with their mission. Maybe a minute or two to check in with Big Mike and get a Subway, but not leaving the property."

"What about Alex?"

"I'll call her. She'll probably drop by on her way home from work."

"You can say hi to Ellie yourself, because she'll be coming down here to do her tests on me. She's an official DARPA scientist now."

"She is?" His face scrunched up a little, brows furrowed. "And how do you feel about that?"

Chuck sighed. "My dad left her all his research. I tried to prevent her from pursuing it for the same reason she made me promise to quit being a spy. We were both trying to keep each other safe. But neither of us was happy denying who we are. I couldn't talk her out of it, so there's no sense being resentful. It's what she wants. I think it's what my dad would want, too."

"And Mega-spy 'Mimi' certainly can't object."

They both laughed. If anybody had the right to hate the spy life, Grandma Bartowski would be at the top of the list. She could retire without shame and still be one of the greatest spies in history. But she wasn't resting on her laurels or slowing down because of her age. She was running off to the jungles of Argentina with her amnesiac daughter-in-law.

"I'm actually cool with it being official. We don't have to lie to each other anymore; she has clearance now. If she was going to continue working on Dad's research anyway, she may as well get paid for it and get some decent security."

"That's great. I'm happy for you. Um, one thing?"

"Yeah, buddy?"

"You tell me if Awesome is neglecting his family."

"What, are you gonna kick his butt?"

With a completely straight face, Morgan said, "Absolutely."

At this, Chuck couldn't help but burst out laughing.

The bearded one smiled an evil little grin. "Oh, not physically. You'd be surprised how many things Casey taught me that don't require size or weapons."

"Did he? Glad to hear it. But let's not forget the last time we all assumed something about Ellie and Awesome." Namely, that Ellie was cheating with that Ring scum, Justin.

Morgan cringed. "Yeah, yeah, I know. I'm jumping to conclusions. Don't mind me." He shook his arms over his head and then loaded a CD into his computer drive. Within seconds, Chuck recognized it as Pimsleur Spanish for Beginners.

"Spanish? That's in the Intersect, you know."

Morgan shrugged. "I know, but  _ **I**_  should brush up. Never know when you might be busy with something else."

Chuck was pretty sure Sarah knew enough Spanish to get by, as long as that wasn't part of her lost memories. However, there was something kind of comforting about Morgan studying all this stuff for himself. Spanish was incredibly useful in Los Angeles. A guy whose middle name was 'Guillermo' really should know some Spanish.

Chuck stood and walked over to stand behind his best friend. He placed his hand on top of Morgan's shoulder. "I need to go home and clean up the spare bedroom. You sure you're good by yourself?"

Morgan paused the Spanish CD long enough to wave him off. "Yeah, I'm fine. Go, go."


	14. Crossing Continents (Sarah's POV)

Sarah slept most of the way from Chicago to Buenos Aires, not because she was tired, but because she really didn't want to be stuck in a long, uncomfortable chat with the mother-in-law she couldn't remember. She must have cared about the woman at least somewhat to have agreed to try the dangerous double agent play in Moscow. Chuck had told her about that.

Sarah knew she couldn't avoid the talk completely, or it would look suspicious. So, with that in mind, she took the initiative. "I don't know what I called you before, but is 'Mary' all right for now?"

"You always called me 'Mary'—well, that or 'Frost'. That was my code name in Volkoff Industries. Alexei, my mark, used it like a pet name." Her eyes shut and her head shook in a miniature shudder.

Chuck had mentioned the insane evil man who took a shining to his mother and tried to take his father's place in her affections. Mary had encouraged it because that was what spies have to do to get close to their marks. "Is it going to be a problem that I don't remember Volkoff?"

"God, I hope not. I'm doing my best to forget. Can I ask you something, Sarah? Why did you choose me as your partner for this mission?"

Sarah shrugged. "You weren't my first choice."

"WHAT? Beckman said—"

"Calm down. Neither was Chuck. My first choice was solo. Carina and Zondra were second."

Mary nodded. "Your bridesmaids. We've met."

Sarah was appalled by how much she had allowed her personal life to mix with her professional one. Falling in love with an asset. Socializing with her partner. Having her old tactical squad be her bridesmaids. What kind of spy  _ **was**_  she? Of course, that was the point to rejoining the CIA. To prove to herself and everyone else that she was a good spy, despite her rather shameful behavior over the last five years. What in the  _ **world**_  had she been thinking?

"They were busy," Sarah said. "I chose them because I remember working with them. I don't remember working with you."

"Well, let me remind you then. The first time we met, we both pulled our guns. The only thing that prevented us from blowing each other away in Griffith Park was Chuck arriving, introducing us, and begging us not to kill each other in front of him."

"We thought you were rogue."

"He didn't.  _ **You**_  did."

Sarah wasn't sure how to answer that. Should she try to stick up for a judgment she didn't remember making?

Mary shook her head and held up a staying hand to preclude any response. "Not without good reason. Chuck's biggest weakness is trusting people. I'm thankful he has you to watch his back."

" _ **Had**_  me."

"Are you going to leave him? Get a divorce?" Her voice was so calm, so... non-judgmental. She just looked at her with those disarming motherly eyes. It was no mystery how this woman had survived twenty years on a long-term mission. She had the patience of a saint.

"I—uh..."

"I'm not going to tell Chuck, if that's what you're worried about. I will tell you to talk to him yourself. However, Chuck uses Morgan for his sounding board. Why don't you use me?"

Sarah took a deep breath and released it. "It crossed my mind, but then I found something with all the picture albums Chuck made me look at." Sarah paused, bit her lips, and started again. "It was a homemade prenuptial agreement. It said something like, 'I, Sarah Walker, promise to always love Chuck Bartowski. I will not even contemplate the word divorce and promise never to use my prenup.' We both signed it, dated, and everything. Not a legal document, of course."

The older woman smiled a knowing smile. "No, of course not. But you cared enough at one time to sign it. And Chuck cared enough to keep it."

"I still care about him. I feel terrible that I can't remember our lives before. That I can't be the same person he fell in love with. I don't even know who I am anymore."

Mary placed her hand atop Sarah's on the armrest that separated their airline seats. "I fell in love with a spy too. I was gone for over twenty years, abandoned my kids and my husband, and declared a traitor to my country. For all anyone knew, I was sleeping with the most diabolical criminal since Josef Stalin. But one man never stopped believing in me, never stopped looking for me, and never stopped loving me until the day he died: my husband, Stephen. Our son is cut from that same cloth. There is nothing you can do to turn him against you. Nothing."

Sarah was immediately reminded of all her recent efforts to kill Chuck, Ellie, Casey, and Morgan. Chuck had forgiven her for all of that.

Mary paused for a second, as if she knew Sarah would need time to wrap her mind around such a huge concept. She resumed, a little quieter than before. "As long as you keep trying to remember, keep moving toward him, he'll be waiting with open arms."

"I will not contemplate the word divorce," Sarah affirmed softly.

"Good. That's half the battle." She patted her hand one last time and removed it.

Sarah shifted in her seat as if to signal the end to a chapter in the conversation. Time to start a new one. "So my shrink thinks I need people to remind me of all the things I have forgotten. What do you want to remind me?"

"Hmm, let's see. I've already mentioned the time I nearly shot you in Griffith Park. How about the time Volkoff and I tied you and Chuck up, set explosives everywhere, and left you both to die?" Her voice wasn't completely serious, but it wasn't really jesting either. Mary's choice of bonding moments might be completely suspect if Chuck hadn't mentioned this incident to her before.

"And you left me a razor blade to cut the ropes."

"You remember?"

She sighed. "No. Sorry. Chuck told me the story. He's a bit of a talker."

Mary chuckled. "Yes, he is. Maybe I'll skip all the things he would know about, like the after-Thanksgiving-dinner time I pointed a gun at you—"

"Mary, did we ever have any encounters where we  _ **weren't**_ threatening each other?"

"A few," she said, but there was a twinkle in her eye and a smile on her lips. Sarah couldn't help but find herself growing fond of the stranger who was her mother-in-law.

She didn't ask for more anecdotes and Mary didn't talk just to fill the quiet. With the obligatory chat out of the way, they could both enjoy the peace and quiet.

.

* * *

.

As they disembarked the plane, they spotted a "tour guide" wearing a red and yellow ballcap and holding a card reading "Mary and Sarah from Chicago". Sarah walked up to him and said, "Have you ever been to Chicago?"

Ballcap guy's red polo shirt was embroidered with the name "Miguel" but he didn't have the slightest Spanish accent when he replied, "Many times, but I only go for the pizza."

Sarah smiled and nodded at the correct answer to the code phrase. Miguel showed them to an SUV painted the same red and yellow as the ballcap, with an airplane logo on the side and "Buenos Aires Sky Tours" underneath. They drove for an hour to get to the private airstrip with its red and yellow building and the same logo as the vehicle. Signs outside boasted daytime and "starlight" tours, which would cover the need for clandestine spy missions. This was obviously the field office.

Inside the building, Miguel pointed out the restrooms and showed them to their backpacks. "Go ahead and check out all your gear. You have plenty of time. Your flight is going to be delayed a few hours."

Mary raised a brow. "Delayed? Why?"

Sarah was glad the older woman had asked because she was obviously much better at keeping her cool than Sarah would have been.  _A few **HOURS**? What the hell...?_

"Sorry, Agent Bartowski. General's orders."

Mary nodded and took the whole thing in stride. Sarah wasn't quite placated. Bad enough Beckman was in cahoots with Dreyfus to make her take a babysitter along on what should have been her own mission, but to purposely strand them after she'd already endured the 12 hours in the air and a 40-minute stop for refueling? No. Sarah felt she deserved a better explanation than "general's orders".

She pulled out her phone. The main screen had a notification she'd received a data file from Chuck. She dismissed it to look at later and dialed the general instead. Mary would probably want to know why too, so she set it to speakerphone.

Beckman picked up on the first ring. "Agent Walker, is everything all right?"

"Yes, ma'am. But we've been told you ordered a two hour delay in our departure. May I ask why?"

"You can thank Grimes for that."

 ** _Thank?_** She was going to chew the furry little weasel out. And maybe mention to Chuck that he should show a little more pride and professionalism than to stick his video game buddies on his spy team.

"Why is that, General?" Mary chimed in from over Sarah's shoulder.

"On a routine check of your equipment list, he asked for the rigging certification on your parachutes."

That was more than a bit on the obsessive side. Their pilot should be responsible for that, not some Buy Moron in Burbank. Sarah was just about to voice that very thought, but Beckman didn't give her a chance.

"When the field office told him they'd assigned you T-10D's, Mr. Grimes insisted you should have ram-air parafoils instead. There was a...  _ **discussion**_. I agreed with Grimes. Their parafoils were past their expiration dates. They had to send someone to a neighboring city to get fresh ones."

"Oh," Sarah said, now extremely glad she hadn't spoken on impulse. Still, she knew 'oh' sounded pretty lame. Mary gave her a puzzled look, but she didn't say anything aloud while Beckman was still on the line. "I guess we wait then. Sorry to disturb you, General."

"Good luck, team. Again. Beckman out." The connection severed before Sarah could say anything else.

"Did Morgan just save our lives?" Mary asked.

Sarah shook her head. "Not exactly, but he did make the difference between us having a couple of jellyfish chutes with no steering, completely at the mercy of the wind and gravity and having the kind where we can control precisely where we land."

"We  _ **will**_  have to thank him for that, you know," Mary said. She sounded almost as begrudging as Sarah felt.

However, begrudging or not, it was undeniable. "Yeah, that's kind of major." In looking at her backpack supplies for anything she could find fault with, she realized he wasn't quite the Buy Moron she'd thought a minute ago. A set of throwing knives. A gun that fit her small ankle holster. Bug repellent in lemon scent, not pine. Her voice had a bit of awe in it when she asked, "Mary, where did Morgan train for this?"

Mary shook her head. "Morgan learned a lot from Casey, but this isn't military or government expertise. He  _ **knows**_  us. Look." She held up a baggie with three pieces of Dentyne. "Morgan's brain got fried when he had the Intersect too. Chuck said he forgot all his favorite movies. But somehow he managed to remember that I like cinnamon gum and the last time I could have possibly told him, he was nine years old."

Sarah shuffled through her supplies. Gum would be standard on a parachuting mission because of the need to equalize pressure on the eardrums. If her gum was cinnamon too, that would prove it was just coincidence. Morgan wasn't even here to do the gum-buying. This was all planned through email from the other side of the globe. Sarah found all kinds of useful items as she looked for her gum bag, but she had none at all. Then it dawned on her. Her lower jaw dropped as she looked up at Mary. "Morgan must know I hate gum. I don't have any."

"Like I said, he knows us."


	15. Parachuting (Sarah's POV)

As Sarah suspected, underneath the "Sky Tours" company was the secret base, probably run in concert with several different government entities. They had quite an impressive store of weapons, equipment, and even freeze-dried food down here. Not nearly as high-tech as Castle, but they had a computer with a large wall monitor. The most welcome sight, however, was a homey little guest room with two double beds and a shower. Miguel swept his hand across the doorway like the host of a resort. "For your comfort, ladies. We will alert you when your chutes arrive."

Now Sarah would definitely thank Morgan for the delay.

Mary claimed the bed nearest the door, dropped her suitcase and backpack on the floor, and collapsed on the mattress. "I'm going to take a nap first and use my shower for wake-up. The shower is all yours."

Sarah had slept enough on the long flight. She decided to take advantage of the shower. After she was clean, she checked the file Chuck had sent earlier. It was some aerial photos of this bunker they were headed for and a blueprint of the floor plan. She memorized it as best she could, just in case she got separated from her phone. She was a little surprised not to see any trees in the photos, so she availed herself of the computer to double-check the area.

Evidently, the photo of Rodchenko had been taken in a different location than the bunker, because there was nothing but pampas where they were headed. That was good and bad. They wouldn't have to worry about landing in trees, but no trees also meant it would be harder to hide. It was just as well they had to wait for parachutes. The cover of night would be an important advantage. It was nearly dusk now. She quickly checked the weather conditions (no rain forecasted, cool night temps) while she was at it.

Miguel introduced her to Juan, who, despite the name, looked very Anglo with pale skin, ginger hair, and blue eyes. His red and yellow Sky Tours uniform had "Capt. Juan" embroidered on the pocket. "I'm the pilot," he explained. "Tourists think pilots should be captains, but I'm actually a lieutenant." He didn't say in which organization or branch of the military.

"Agent Sarah Walker." She extended her hand and they shook.

The guys loaded a dining table with snacks and invited her to join them. It wasn't anything fancy, but it was definitely better than airplane food. She ate until she was full. "I better go check on my partner," she said by way of dismissing herself from the table.

Mary was still napping, so Sarah tiptoed in and quietly unpacked her suitcase to get her clothes and the gear she had brought from Burbank: variable-light goggles, earpieces, video-transmitting glasses, a digital lock cracker, and a few other assorted gadgets. These were not as difficult to get through TSA checkpoints as guns, knives, and explosives, which was why all those items had to be supplied through the field office.

She repacked her mission backpack, and then checked her suitcase to be sure she hadn't missed anything. In a side pocket, she found a photograph of her and Chuck, him standing behind her with his arms wrapped around her and both of them smiling. A wave of warmth coursed her spine. She couldn't say when or where the picture was taken, but she somehow knew that wasn't a cover smile on her face. She had been genuinely happy. Something about that picture made her think "home". Perhaps it had been taken at that house Chuck wanted, the one where she carved her name in the door frame.

It would be dangerous to take something like that with her, not only for her, but for anyone who could be used as leverage if things went south. She left the photo, along with her passport and driver's license, in her suitcase.

Mary stirred and opened one eye. "Is it time yet?" she asked groggily.

"They haven't mentioned the chutes, but they have food if you're hungry."

Mary sat up. "Food sounds good. But I better shower first."

Sarah wasn't sure if Mary meant she stank or if she needed the water to make sure she wouldn't do a faceplant in her food. Maybe a bit of both. "Hot water lasts about six minutes," Sarah warned.

"Thanks. I can manage that."

Sarah changed into her mission clothes, adding all her concealed weapons as she went. Then she sat on her bed, flipping through the info on her phone while she waited.

Mary emerged from the shower in under six minutes. She stopped to stare at Sarah's black turtleneck, pants, and suede jacket. The elder agent hit herself in the forehead with the butt of her palm. "What latitude are we at?"

"About 34 degrees. Same as Los Angeles, only south."

"I always forget that once you cross the equator, it starts getting cooler again. Not everything is tropical."

Sarah shrugged. "You spent a lot of time in Moscow. Almost everything is south of that, and warmer."

"Antarctica. I always forget Antarctica and penguins. Maybe I should get Morgan to pack my clothes," she joked.

"Do you need to borrow something?" Sarah didn't have much to spare, but maybe she could ask Miguel. A sweat shirt was probably not too hard to rustle up.

"No, thanks. I obviously didn't need to bring three tank tops, but I brought some long sleeves too. And of course a jacket for the jump. I tend to overpack."

 _Who else does that?_  Someone she knew always packed too much for missions. Was it Zondra?

There was a knock on the door. Miguel's voice sounded from the other side: "Parachutes are here. Wheels up in fifteen."

Sarah looked at Mary, still wrapped in a towel. Mary talked through the closed door: "We'll be ready. Is there still food?"

"Sure thing, Agent Bartowski. We'll leave it out for you."

Mary might have been a bit forgetful of the finer points of geography, but she was dressed and had her backpack ready in five minutes. She left a few items behind in her suitcase, probably the aforementioned tank tops. She grabbed something from the food table and ate on the way back up the stairs and out to the airstrip.

"Captain" Juan was optimistic about the conditions. "Good visibility, no wind. You couldn't ask for a better night."

"Are you our extraction team?"

"Depends on what you find. Helicopter is a no-go until you know their defenses. Last time we landed near one of these whacko paramilitary installations, we lost six men and an Apache. Radio in coordinates where it's safe to land and we'll be there."

"Roger that," Mary said. "You have the frequency for our support team back in the states, right?"

"Cobra and Carmichael. You bet. First time we've ever had a female team of agents backed by all-male support. They're kind of obsessive, like they really have your backs."

"They'd better, or we'd kill them," Mary deadpanned. Sarah knew she wasn't serious but both Juan and Miguel looked like they believed it. The two ladies put in their earpieces and checked in with Chuck and Morgan just before they leapt out into the Argentinian spring air.

Sarah loved the rushing wind on her face as they sped toward the ground in freefall.

"I've got positive lock on both your altimeter readings," Chuck said in her earpiece. "How's your visual?"

"Minimal moonlight, no clouds," Mary reported. She had to practically scream because of the wind, but it didn't transmit like screaming. "Sarah's right beside me, about thirty feet away."

"Copy. You got a visual on the ground yet?"

"Too dark," Mary said.

"Let me try," Sarah said. "Switching to infra-red." She hit the button on her goggles. A tiny orange-red rectangle appeared on the ground, not directly beneath them, but they didn't want to land on top without a good look first. "Affirmative. Target in sight."

"You're looking good, ladies."

"By the way, thanks for the Dentyne, Morgan," Mary said.

"They had it? Oh, good."

"Why didn't I get any gum, Morgan?" Sarah asked, trying to keep her screaming voice even. It was so much fun to make the little man squirm.

"Umm...about that..."

"My fault," Chuck broke in. "I told him you wouldn't want any."

"I thought you were busy picking up Ellie," Sarah accused. Chuck wasn't going to take the hit when she was just yanking Morgan's chain.

"It's  _ **my**_  fault," Morgan said firmly. "You—well, the other you, from before you forgot everything—you told me you didn't like gum. So take it out of my hide when you get back."

"Morgan?"

"Yes, Sarah?"

"I'm impressed you remembered. Thanks. Oh, and thanks for getting us good parachutes."

"You're welcome. Did they get you good throwing knives? I told them they better have really great throwing knives for you because you love your throwing knives."

Chuck broke in on Morgan's obsessing. "You're coming up on ripcord altitude, ladies."

"Thanks, Chuck," Mary said. She looked over at Sarah. They nodded and pulled their cords at the same time.

"Both chutes deployed perfectly," Sarah reported, talking more normally now.

She could hear the men doing high fives in the background. "Roger that."

"What's the entry plan?" Mary asked.

"We have the bunker specs," Chuck said, "but we don't know what kind of security they might have added after factory. Satellite photos inconclusive. You'll have to be our eyes when you get there."

They landed in nice, soft pampas, both of them on their feet. They crouched immediately to keep a low profile. The tall grass was perfect for hiding the chutes when they took them off. No alarms sounded and nothing changed at the bunker, which was a good hundred yards away, down a slope. Sarah recorded the coordinates as a possible extraction point later. She switched her goggles from infra-red to night vision and pointed for Mary's benefit.

They moved in concert like panthers in the night, down the slope and toward the bunker.


	16. Untergrundbahn (Jeff's POV)

Jeff kept his face hidden with the information card he'd picked up, but after a few seconds, he looked at it more carefully and discovered it had a section in English. He read this to himself, thinking he would only tell Lester the important parts, if any.

It was about riding the subway trains to get where you wanted in Berlin. Assuming, of course, one knew street names or landmarks. Unfortunately, it was no help in determining where to find a Subway restaurant. Jeff was also a little worried because they didn't even know where they had been when they got on. How were they going to retrace their steps back to the motel?

After reading a bunch of commercial propaganda about how great all of Berlin's public transportation was, he found some disconcerting news.  _Lester better hear this_.

He leaned over to his paranoid traveling companion. Lester's magazine was entirely in German, but he'd found some cool automobile advertisements to look at. Jeff whispered, "Psssst. Lester."

"I'm right here, you moron." He would never admit it, but he was tense.

"Listen to this: The U-bahn operates entirely on the honor system, but if you're caught trying to evade paying the fare, the fine is forty euros."

Lester scoffed. "Caught? Ha! Who would catch us?"

"They have undercover spies on the trains."

"Spies on the trains. You think everyone is a spy now because of Chuck and Morgan's silly spy clubhouse under the Buy More."

"You didn't believe them either?"

"What? No way Chuck and Morgan are spies. Maybe Chuck's hot old lady, but the rest of that story they fed us? Ridiculous. John Casey a colonel? Preposterous."

Jeff agreed, but he didn't want to get sidetracked about that now. He pointed to the specific paragraph where he had read the information. "See? They have people who check for tickets and we didn't buy any."

Lester gave him that longsuffering look he'd used less often since Jeff got his brain clean. "Never fear, my pasty friend. What are the chances they'd be checking the one train we happened to run into when we were escaping a mob of fans?"

Jeff peeked over the four-page foldout ad of the shiniest black Mercedes to ever exist, which Lester was using to hide both of their faces while they were reading Jeff's brochure. Sure enough, some dude in a brown suit was walking down the aisle and talking to passengers. The passengers were showing him their tickets. Jeff pointed at the man, who was still a good seven rows away. "I'd say the chances were really good."

The Canadian Hin-Jew's brown eyes bugged out. He repositioned his magazine like it was a shield that would protect him from bullets. "Hide, Jeffrey!"

"Hide. Right." He looked over his friend, who, although not easy to identify behind the Mercedes centerfold, was nowhere near undetectable. "Lester, there's nowhere to go. We should just tell the truth."

"Are you insane? He'll never believe us. He probably doesn't even speak English."

He probably had a point about believing. Two rock stars lost in Berlin who didn't buy public transportation tickets because they were being mobbed by crazed fans? Jeff figured the chances of the undercover agent speaking English, however, were at least 50-50. Europeans were more bilingual than Americans.

While Lester tried to curl up in a ball on the floor, Jeff started mentally rehearsing what to say because there was no way they were going to duck this one.

Their fellow passengers had suddenly transformed from crazed fans trying to rip off their clothes, to highly civilized German professionals who were all exquisitely happy to prove they had purchased tickets. This would be a whole lot easier if someone else had tried to buck the system.

Because they had hidden in the very back of the compartment, the man in the brown suit came to them last. He spoke a short German phrase that may as well have been Martian. Jeff took a deep breath. "Do you speak English? My friend and I don't speak German." He swatted Lester's magazine.

The U-bahn undercover guy nodded and spoke with a thick accent, but at least it was English. "Ja. I need to see your tickets."

Jeff tried to stay calm. "We don't have tickets. We don't have any money. We didn't even  _ **want**_  to get on the train. We were running away from our fans."

Brown Suit Dude's face wrinkled up like he didn't understand the word. "Fans? There are no fans in the station. It is not even hot this time of year."

"Not that kind of fan," Jeff said. How did you explain fans using simple words? He gestured around the train. "The people. They recognized us and mobbed us. We're Jeffster."

Lester interrupted. "They were going to crush us and rip all our clothes off."

Brown Suit Dude was not falling for it. Clearly, he had heard every excuse in the book, and probably more than his fair share from tourists who would assume that no ticket-takers or turnstiles meant 'free ride'. "I need to see your identification."

Jeff patted all his pockets, but he didn't even have a wallet with him. What was the point of a wallet if you didn't have any money? Lester somehow produced a California driver's license and handed it to Brown Suit Dude.

The German scrutinized the license with slanted brows. He looked back and forth between Lester and the ID and then at Jeff.

"I don't have any ID. Sorry."

"You are Americans, ja?"

Jeff said "yes" while Lester retorted, "Canadian."

"The fine is forty euros. Per passenger. If you do not pay, I call police at next stop."

Lester spread his wallet open wide with his thumbs and showed him the inside of the bill compartment. "Empty, see? No euros. No dollars. No dinero."

Jeff just shook his head. He'd already told the guy they didn't have money. Maybe if he had his keytar, he and Lester could sing on the train and take up a collection. Was eighty euros more like ten bucks or a hundred bucks?

Jeff stood up and announced in a loud voice, "Anyone wanna buy my hoodie?" They'd been clawing at it just a few minutes ago. Maybe it was worth enough to get them out of this mess. Lester shook his head, but Jeff didn't know if it was a  _ **you idiot**_  shake or a  _ **great idea but it'll never work**_  shake.

Brown Suit Dude grabbed Jeff by the arm. "Come with me." He slipped Lester's license into his jacket's inside pocket and then said, "You also, Canadian."

Damn. They were supposed to be living their dream and now they were being detained like criminals in a foreign land.

The train slowed to a stop. Brown Suit Dude said something in German to the other passengers. No one moved while the U-bahn spy pushed Jeff ahead of him and dragged Lester behind, moving toward the door.  _You fickle fans_ , Jeff thought of the people who mobbed them one minute and completely ignored them in their time of need.

Once off the train, Lester somehow broke free and tackled Brown Suit Dude with a head-butt. Jeff was surprised his diminutive friend would try at all, so he was doubly surprised when the hit caused the spy guy to lose his grip on Jeff's arm as he fell to the ground.

"Run, Jeffrey!" Lester screamed.

If there was one thing Jeff knew,  _ **always**_  run from the po-po. He followed Lester as fast as he could, never looking back.

Still sprawled on the ground, Brown Suit Dude shouted something in German to their backs, probably some obscenity. Then again, most German sounded like swearing to Jeff.


	17. Busting the Bunker (Chuck's POV)

Chuck hadn't slept well the night before the parachute jump. Between Sarah being gone, the late night run to Bob Hope Airport, and Clara screaming like a banshee at 4AM, sleep just had not happened. Ellie apologized because Clara was still on Chicago time, but it almost sounded like she thought a 6AM wake-up call of that volume, shrillness, and duration would have been perfectly normal and acceptable.

Food preparation that morning didn't go very well either. Chuck couldn't remember where Sarah kept the blender. In fact, he wasn't even sure they owned a blender. Surely, someone had given them one as a wedding gift, but Chuck thought the appliance was mainly good for making shakes in the summer or making margaritas at a party. They'd been too busy ever since the wedding to think about anything but the most impromptu of gatherings. They certainly hadn't opened up a new blender and tried it out.

Chuck offered to make pancakes but Ellie pointed out he didn't have any eggs. He would have borrowed some from Morgan and Alex, but Ellie decided she couldn't live without her smoothie and said she would buy one on the way to her appointment with Dr. Dreyfus.

Then she refused to take Sarah's car, citing baby mess and the fact Sarah probably thought her a reckless driver after that intentional accident. Ellie called a cab, gathered all her baby paraphernalia and her research notebook, strapped Baby Clara into a car seat that doubled as a stroller, and left with a wave and a shouted goodbye.

Chuck ate a couple of pop-tarts alone. He didn't even have Morgan to keep him company on the walk to work because Morgan had stayed the night at Castle, giving obsessive levels of attention to planning Mom's and Sarah's backpacks and making sure they had good parachutes.

He and Morgan both took naps in Castle while they waited for the mission. Chuck felt a lot better physically after sleeping, microwaving a Hot Pocket, and downing a Red Bull, but he still felt badly about not connecting with Ellie. If she hadn't insisted that the main reason for her trip was doing tests on  _ **him**_ , he would have felt worse. He consoled himself with the knowledge she'd have to catch up with him eventually.

"Castle, this is Vaca Villa. You copy?" came over the scrambled radio frequency.

Morgan was closer to the console, so he answered. "Roger that, Miguel. What's up?"

 _Miguel?_  Chuck was impressed Morgan knew this guy's voice well enough to identify him. He didn't comment on the silly code name they'd given their base. Cow House probably lost something in translation.

"Birdie is in flight. Conditions muy bueno. Thought you'd like to know. Over."

"Muchas gracias, amigo," Morgan said. "We'll take it from here. Castle out."

Chuck felt badly that he couldn't be there, not only because he would feel utterly helpless if anything went wrong while he was stuck thousands of miles away, but if he was really honest with himself, he was jealous he was missing out on the fun. Parachuting out of a plane was quite the rush as long as you planned on it and knew where you were going. And how weird was it to be jealous of his  _ **mother**_  because she was off saving the world with Sarah, while he sat in a basement in Burbank?

It wasn't long before Mom and Sarah turned on their ear pieces and started transmitting. Chuck did his best to bury his feelings and focus. If he didn't do well quarterbacking, Sarah might ask Beckman for another support team and cut him out of the picture completely. Besides, this wasn't about him.

The jump went off without a hitch. Chuck was relieved to hear Sarah joking with Morgan and even thanking him. Was she remembering him or just warming up because he was doing such a good job?

He and Morgan both watched the video feed from Sarah's night-vision goggles as she and Mom crept down to the bunker. No laser detection system or land mines showed up, which was great, but Chuck couldn't shake the feeling this was all a bit too easy. The door had a pretty standard digital lock, which Sarah nailed in less than three seconds with her electronic wizardry. She put the digital lock-picker away, placed her hand on the door, and nodded to Mary.

"Sarah, honey, you might want to turn off your night vision," Chuck reminded her. If there were lights on inside, she'd be blinded.

The green illumination abruptly disappeared and the monitor went black. "Got it," Sarah said. Did she sound annoyed at the reminder? He couldn't tell. "Opening door now."

Chuck held his breath. Anything could happen, from exploding booby traps to gunfire to kung fu. But they couldn't see or hear anything and the suspense was killing him.

"Dark inside," Mom reported.

"Thanks, Mrs. B," Morgan said. "We don't hear anything. How about you?"

"Humming," Mom said.

"What, like 'Zippity-Do-Da'?"

She scoffed. "No, it's a mechanical humming, like big fans."

"Copy that," Morgan said aloud while giving Chuck his 'what the heck?' face.

Chuck shook his head silently in return. Maybe it was a ventilation system.

"Switching to infra-red," Sarah said.

The display lit up like a Christmas tree. Behind the wall where Mom and Sarah stood was an expansive room. Evidently, they had altered the blueprint and taken out a bunch of the walls. The ceiling had hundreds of very warm light fixtures, all blazing like the devil's tanning salon. A few human bodies also showed up on the screen, but mostly far away and obscured by something in the way.

The color pattern of the obscuring objects was hard to decipher at first, but then Chuck remembered Rodchenko was an agricultural scientist. "Plants," he whispered. Not that he had any good reason to whisper. It was just kind of tentative and eerie.

Sarah scanned the room beyond the wall, perhaps testing his hypothesis. She finally found a definitive shape and stopped to let a picture form in yellowish-green coolness.

"That looks like an ear of corn," Morgan said.

Mom whispered back, "Why would they waste all this electricity to grow a bunch of corn underground? The power has to be enormous."

Sarah panned around and then landed on two humans who were very close. Their size and stance spoke volumes. "Guards outside the door," she whispered, presumably to her partner.

"Sarah, if all they're doing is coming up with a new strain of popcorn, then nobody's doing anything wrong."

"We use tranq guns," the two women said in harmony. Sarah's display showed them both readying weapons.

Chuck squelched the tremendous urge to comment.

"Chuck, you still there?" Mom asked. "I expected more gloating from you."

"I'm here."  _Trying very hard to keep focused on_ _ **you**_ _without being jealous._  And that wasn't easy.

"Good. When we get in there, Sarah is going to take out the guards and I'm going to get you a closeup of this corn. See if you can flash and figure out why it's underground and not in a field where it should be."

"Copy, Mom."

The infra-red display abruptly ended. They knew the next room would be lit, so they switched to normal spy goggles. Morgan had Sarah's view on his monitor and Chuck had his mother's. Both monitors were easy to view from either chair.

Sarah opened the door and light flooded in. The guards rushed her, but the soft whoosh of tranq darts downed them quickly. Sarah's view showed they had guns, but they hadn't drawn them. She gathered said guns from their holsters.

"Good thinking, honey," Chuck said.

"The corn, Chuck," Mom urged, a little too scoldingly, he thought.

"I'm looking, Mom, but no—" The Intersect finally obliged when Mom opened up the silks to reveal something that looked like brains. "Whoa. Okay. That's corn smut."

Morgan burst out laughing. "Did you just talk dirty to your  _ **mother**_?"

"No, that grey glob stuff. It's a fungus called 'smut'. They call it  _huitlacoche_  in Mexico. It's considered a delicacy."

Morgan gasped. "That can't be right.  _Huitlacoche_  is black. And it's great, by the way. Food of the gods! Why would anyone call it 'smut'?" He was downright indignant anyone had insulted something he considered delicious.

"It turns black when you cook it," Chuck said, reporting one of the many facts he'd picked up in his flash.

"Wait. People eat a  ** _fungus_**?" Mom sounded a bit grossed-out.

Sarah joined the discussion: "Mushrooms and truffles are fungus too. Nothing wrong with eating a fungus."

Chuck attempted to answer Morgan's question. "The USDA has a major vendetta against this stuff because it ruins corn. Maybe  _ **they**_  named it 'smut'." Their fanaticism against it was probably why it was in the Intersect at all.

Sarah started walking down the rows of corn. Every ear she checked had a lobe of the fungus. "It looks like they're all infected. Maybe that's what this is, a nursery for  _huitlacoche_."

Mom jumped in, her voice hushed. "But why do it underground? It can't be cost effective to grow like this, and they certainly didn't need Dr. Nickolai Rodchenko just to grow a common fungus."

Sarah looked at Mom. "We need to find him."

Mom's glasses showed her gathering a sample of the  _huitlacoche_  before discarding the ear she had picked. She then caught up to Sarah, who was headed toward where they'd seen humans in their infra-red scan, on the other side of the indoor field.

They scanned everywhere, but didn't find more guards. The humans turned out to be wearing lab coats. They were all writing on clipboards or testing ears of corn with scientific instruments.

Mom growled under her breath. "If Beckman sent us down here to harass farmers and science geeks..." She didn't finish the sentence, but added belatedly, "Sorry, Chuck."

Morgan cleared his throat. "We're not geeks, we're  _ **nerds**_ , Mrs. B."

She blew an exasperated, "Whatever."

Chuck winked at his buddy. He was doing a good job of breaking up the tension.

Multiple tranq swooshes sounded and the geeks slumped to the ground. Mom and Sarah checked all their faces, but none was Rodchenko. They moved swiftly and smoothly toward the door.

According to the specs gathered from the satellite photos, it appeared most of the bunker had been devoted to this vast underground growing field. Chuck expected the rest to be laboratories, but they couldn't be very big.

The hall beyond the door was dark, but someone found the light. Mom gasped at what the light revealed: Four jail cells with iron bars and toilets, but no beds. The closest cell held a woman and two young girls, all disheveled, underfed, and dirty. The center two cages were empty. The last cell held a man in a blood-stained shirt. His face looked like he'd been beaten, but it was definitely Rodchenko.

Mom rushed to his cell, Russian spewing forth like a cascade. The Intersect gave Chuck an instant language lexicon. Chuck wasn't sure how much Russian Sarah knew or if she had lost any of it in the brain melt that took all her memories of him. But Morgan was definitely not following, so he attempted to help him understand.

"It's Rodchenko. They kidnapped him and his family. They used his wife and daughter to force him to work for them."

"Who?" Morgan whispered.

They both watched their screens as Sarah found keys for the cells and freed the women first. They ran to the other cell and into the arms of their father and husband. Mom gave them a few seconds for a tearful reunion before she returned to drilling Rodchenko.

"Who did this?" Chuck translated quietly.

"Carlos Rodriguez and Hans Petrovich." Chuck flashed, but he didn't have time to concentrate on any of the new information.

"Why? What's going on?"

"You are American, right? You will not leave us here? You will give us asylum?"

"Of course, Nickolai. It's all right. Just tell me what's going on here." Mom's voice sounded just like when she talked to Clara. Chuck didn't try to convey that in his translation. Morgan could probably catch it from her tone.

"The corn smut. They made me engineer a super-contagious strain of the fungus. It has a nano-virus helper. It spreads like nothing ever before. They mean to wipe out all the corn crops in China and United States."

"Why?"

"I don't know. I am prisoner, forced to do their bidding. They tortured my little girls and my wife. Did you catch them? Is the fungus contained?"

Mom's face loomed large in Sarah's field of view and Sarah stared back in Mom's.

"Ay caramba," Morgan whispered darkly.


	18. Thoughts from Dresden (Casey's POV)

John Casey loved Dresden: old East Germany, with its Cold War charm to match its cold climate. Well, colder than Los Angeles and South Beach anyway. Oktoberfest was a lot more to his liking than bathing suits and pool lounging.

His job at Verbanski Corp wasn't bad either, when Gertrude actually let him do it. She was more protective of him than he liked, but she was the boss. Casey didn't have a problem with women in authority. He'd worked quite well under the command of General Beckman, both before and after Operation Bartowski, but he'd never tried to have a personal relationship with her.

Gertrude was great in bed. Frequent and intense; he certainly couldn't complain about  _ **that**_. But matters outside of the bedroom were starting to gnaw at him. She didn't force him to wear fuzzy sweaters or pretend to be his damsel in distress, but every time they talked, it was either work-related or it was sexual innuendo. She even did it in public and in front of clients, which he especially hated, because he always tried to show respect when others were around. But patiently explaining to her how it looked unprofessional hadn't helped. She did it even more, like it amused her to defy and embarrass him.

Then there was the moral ambiguity  _ **thing**_. More than once, he'd balked to Chuck and Sarah about accepting clients who had questionable motives or business practices. From what he was seeing of Verbanski Corp, she was ten times the offender they ever were. She didn't care if her clients were scum of the earth as long as they paid and as long as she wouldn't get caught doing anything illegal. Everything was always about money. Gertrude was loaded. She didn't need more money. She could be as discerning as she wanted. He told himself he had no right to judge her business, but it bugged him.

Chuck and Sarah had always treated Casey like a partner, not only by having his back and trusting him to have theirs, but they  _ **listened**_  to him and gave him a say in Carmichael Industries. Yes, he got outvoted a couple of times, but no matter how much he chided them about being too touchy-feely, they always listened and acted like his opinion really mattered. He hadn't put up any of the capital, but they still treated him like a business partner.

Furthermore, there was no use denying he thought of them as more than just partners. He'd been a groomsman at their wedding. He'd risked his life and his career for both of them on separate occasions. They were damn good spies, but they were also his  _ **friends**_. So what did he do? At Sarah's time of greatest need, he'd handed her a DVD and told her to have a good life. He knew his friends were both suffering terribly over the aftermath of Quinn, but he didn't stick around to show support or even to help with that new cyberterrorism business after he'd been the one to insist they sell the Buy More.

He'd heard through Alex that Sarah had rejoined the CIA. He knew about her rejecting Chuck as a partner. He knew what kind of emotional tailspin that would inflict on Chuck. But was he there, distracting his hyper-emotional friend by helping him get the new business direction started and off the ground? No. He'd run off after a girl. Casey could forgive himself if it had been Kathleen. He'd been engaged to her and he'd conceived a child with her. Kathleen had been true love. Could he really say that about Gertrude?

Casey also missed Alex more than he had imagined possible. She had started out texting him five and six times a day, but she'd quickly lost interest and now he was lucky if he heard from her once a day. He had spent most of her life not even knowing she existed, but he couldn't use that excuse anymore. He knew he had a daughter and he loved spending time with her. He even loved that silly period drama she introduced him to, and he  _ **never**_  watched PBS. He could watch Downton Abbey on BBC here in Dresden, but it just wasn't any good without Alex.

And then there was Morgan. How in  _ **hell**_  had he ever got so attached to that little bearded troll? The kid didn't have much in the brains department, but what he lacked in intelligence, he made up for in raw guts. He'd never been in the military (he would never pass the physical) or gone to spy training like Chuck had, yet Morgan broke his own thumbs on command, played bait for a Bengal tiger, and electrocuted himself to save his friends. Although Casey would never,  _ **ever**_  admit it, somewhere in the depths of his private thoughts, he was finding himself comparing his present roommate to his former one, and the troll was coming out  _ **ahead**_. Morgan had decent cooking skills and he helped keep their apartment clean. Morgan talked to him like he was a human being and not an object, and Morgan called him 'sir' when there was no agency or relationship standard that required it. He understood respect.

As if all those major concerns weren't enough, when he was having a bad day or starting to lose it because of itchy trigger finger, he would obsess over how much he missed his Crown Vic or his bonsai trees. Trivial stuff. He knew that. How could he even let those silly inanimate objects enter his mind when there were so many people to consider, people he truly cared about?

He should give Gertrude more time to get this relationship thing off the ground. She had been KGB. By her own admission, she hadn't had much practice with anything but seducing men in order to get their secrets or picking up one-night-stands to provide amusement. He wasn't exactly a Casanova either. Failed "seduction school" twice. Chose a fake death over marrying the woman he'd proposed to. Really, he couldn't expect things to fall magically into place just because the sex was so incredible.

Yes, time would be the answer. He should give it more time.


	19. Debriefing (Chuck's POV)

Mom interrogated Rodchenko some more, with Chuck relaying questions using knowledge he'd gained in his flashes. As soon as Sarah assured him they had the bunker secured and had called for extraction, Chuck checked his watch. It was late in Washington, but General Beckman had to be told what they'd found. He looked over at Morgan, who had been in Castle for over twenty-four hours. "You can go home if you want. I may be here a while."

Morgan shook his head. "I'm not leaving 'til you do."

Chuck really didn't want to be alone, so he didn't argue. He punched up the general's number. Her hair was down and she was wearing a bathrobe, but it didn't look like she'd been asleep. "Sorry to disturb you, General. I thought you should know Sarah and my mom rescued Rodchenko and his family."

"Family? Rescued? Explain."

"He was kidnapped and held against his will."

Morgan broke in to help. "His wife and two little girls were there too. Sarah and Mrs. B found them all locked in cages. They looked pretty bad."

She softened a little, but she was still impatient. "Who kidnapped them and why? What were they doing there?"

"Carlos Rodriguez and Hans Petrovich. They're in the Intersect under 'Project Locust'. They forced Rodchenko to genetically engineer a..." Chuck just could not say the word 'smut' in front of Beckman. Not after that kiss at the CIA Christmas party. "...fungus that attacks corn, using his family as leverage. They're planning to destroy every corn crop in the United States."

"And China too," Morgan blurted out.

"Dear God," Beckman gasped. "That would be an ecological and economic disaster to make the Irish Potato Famine look like a picnic. Tell me it's been stopped."

Chuck shook his head. "I'm sorry, General. Rodriguez and Petrovich had already left when Mom and Sarah got there. Rodchenko said they took some of the fungus with them. It reproduces, so they wouldn't need a lot. The nanobot facilitator might help us find them though. It's sort of radioactive."

" _ **Sort of**_?" Beckman's volume went up and alarm tinged her voice, like when she heard Costa Gravas had nuclear weapons.

"They're microscopic robot drones. Smaller than fleas. Their power source is—"

"What, plutonium?"

"No, no. Nothing like that. That would make the whole project really expensive or get them caught if they stole it."

The general was not amused by how resourceful the terrorists had been in avoiding detection and now she was looking at Chuck like he had somehow endorsed their methods just by reporting on it.

He drew a deep breath and plowed on. "They're powered by miniaturized radioisotope thermoelectric generators using americium-241."

Both Morgan and Beckman stared at him like he was speaking gibberish. In honesty, Chuck would only understand about half of that without the Intersect.

He attempted to explain: "That's the same material used in smoke detectors. It would take 500 nanobots to have the same radiation as the average home smoke detector."

"And how many of these bots do they have?" Beckman asked.

Chuck cringed. "Project Locust called for about a billion."

"A  _ **billion**_? So not only are they going to destroy our food with a fungus, but they're going to kill us with radiation?"

He waved his hands in a negating fashion. "They may not have that many. Rodchenko says his sm—fungus is more virulent than they originally hoped for. He only saw two lead-lined suitcases to hold the nanobots."

"I'm never eating  _huitlacoche_  again," Morgan swore under his breath.

Chuck frowned and continued, "You'd have to touch 500 ears of infected corn just to get the same radiation as one smoke detector." He looked at Morgan. "You're not afraid of a smoke detector, right?"

Beckman looked like she was struggling to hold her impatience in check. "This is all very... enlightening, Mr. Bartowski, but how does this help us?"

"Before they let the bots go. All the americium-241 together in one place should be easy to track with a Geiger counter."

Beckman's frown relaxed. "Excellent. Did Rodchenko know where his captors were headed?"

"He didn't know, but if the Project Locust data in the Intersect is correct, you'd better lock down Iowa."

"I'll be calling the Iowa National Guard and Homeland Security immediately. Good work, team. Chuck, get some sleep. As soon as we get a location on Rodriguez and Petrovich, you're going after them."

"Wait. Me, General? Like, me personally?"

"Your country needs you, Chuck. The only other top-level agent available right now is Roan Montgomery and I don't think he can seduce a heterosexual male terrorist or blend in with farmers in Iowa."

Chuck had to agree with that. Seduction was out and putting Roan in plaid flannel might break some law of physics. "Sarah grew up in the midwest. She and my mom can do this."

"I assume Rodriguez and Petrovich will split up. I'll send Mary to China, but Sarah isn't cleared for solo."

"But she doesn't want to work with me." He hadn't meant it to sound like a pout, but it came out that way.

"Then you go alone."

Chuck was torn between feeling great because of the huge vote of confidence and feeling terrible because it was probably misplaced. Had Casey ever told her that he failed his Red Test? Did she know how much Shaw, Casey, and Sarah had held his hand and backed him up on his only other solo mission? Had she forgotten why she herself had snatched away the dream cover life in Rome? "I take that as a compliment, and I do appreciate it, but I think we both know I'm not so good by myself."

"Walker says she cares about your safety. Here's her chance to prove it. You were willing to sacrifice your desires for her. Let's see if she'll do the same for you."

 _But she doesn't_ _ **remember**_ _me_. He didn't voice it. Beckman didn't need to hear him whine about his lost love. Besides, someone had to go and he was probably better suited than Roan. He bit his lips and gave a single slow nod.

Beckman removed her glasses, leaned into her camera, and lowered her voice to a more sympathetic tone. "I'll make it an order if I have to. Memories and personal feelings aside, you're the Intersect and she damn well better respect  _ **that**_."

Chuck managed a weak smile and an even weaker, "Thank you, General." Forcing Sarah to protect him was a bit humiliating for both of them. He no longer needed a bodyguard like he did with the Intersect 1.0. What he needed was someone to keep his emotions level, to keep him from freaking out and spiraling. He wasn't so sure Sarah in her present condition could fulfill that role, but he wasn't going to disparage her in front of the general. If Sarah didn't like it, she would have to resign the CIA, and wasn't that what the old Sarah wanted anyway?

Beckman straightened into her dignified general pose. "I will consider this a one-time exception to your commitment to be a consultant for us."

Chuck nodded while Morgan did a restrained under-the-table fist pump. "One last mi—" Morgan clapped his own hand over his mouth and shook his head, then removed his hand to speak again. "I didn't say it. I was gonna say it, but I didn't say it."

Beckman looked at him like he was crazy, which, of course, wasn't too far off.

"You know, the jinx thing. Never say one last huh-huh." He rolled his eyes upward as if that would make it clear.

Beckman gave him her patented I-am-losing-patience eyebrow.

Catching on quick, the bearded one changed the subject. "Can I quarterback?"

The general came close to a smile as she nodded. "Yes, Mr. Grimes. I believe we've found your niche. You may consider this your permanent position as long as any part of Team Bartowski is active."

His fist pump was above the table this time. "Yessss."

"I'm glad I made someone happy tonight. We'll talk later, team. Good night." Beckman hit disconnect and the screen went black.

Morgan jumped up from his seat, threw his hands in the air, and whooped like he'd just beat the all-time high score in his favorite video game. Then he saw that his best friend wasn't quite as excited. "You and Sarah, off on a mission together. Isn't that what you wanted?"

"Under threat of agricultural Armageddon? Not exactly. I want her to  _ **choose**_  to be with me."

Morgan patted him on the back. "Hey, it'll happen. Give her time to remember you."

Movement on one of the security cams caught Chuck's eye. It was nearly closing time at the Buy More. No customers had been in the store for at least an hour. But Ellie knew exactly which camera to wave at. She was in the home theater room, about to open the trap door entrance to Castle.

"Looks like we got company," Chuck said.

.

* * *

.

**30 minutes ago – Echo Park Apartments (Woody's POV)**

.

Honey Woodcomb stopped dead at the fountain in the courtyard. "I'd better wait out here," she whispered.

Woody paused, eyeing his wife with a frown. "Why?"

"Because I'm still a little bitter over the fact the kids up and moved to Chicago after we went to the trouble of buying a house here to be near our granddaughter."

Woody cleared his throat. "We didn't tell them we were moving. We didn't even tell them we were retiring. So the big surprise backfired. It's not their fault. Carlos Shuman was a great opportunity for them."

"So great that Ellie already quit?" She crossed her arms over her chest.

Woody gave her the stop-your-meddling warning glare.

She smirked back at him. "Exactly why I should wait out here."

"Ellie didn't have to tell us she was going to be in town. Do you want to see Clara today, or do you fancy selling the house in Malibu and moving to Chicago?"

Honey shuddered. She didn't even like winter in New England. They'd only ever discussed retirement in Florida or California. Woody knew better than to think she'd ever consent to living in Chicago. A springtime visit, maybe, but living there? Oh hell no.

"We're here, aren't we? Ellie said she had an appointment, so just get Clara and we'll be gone before I can say anything mother-in-law-ish."

Woody decided it was probably best Honey didn't talk to Ellie right now. Maybe when they brought Clara back, she'd be in a better mood. "Okay, but if she asks, I'm telling her you're having a wardrobe malfunction."

Honey rolled her eyes and muttered under her breath, "As if." But she nodded her acceptance of his cover story.

Woody had to stop himself from approaching the wrong door. Devon and Ellie didn't live here anymore and it was just a matter of odd sibling cohesion that her brother, Chuck, lived in the same complex. He knocked on the Bartowski door.

"Come on in," Ellie's voice called from somewhere inside. Probably changing a diaper or something.

Woody turned the knob and walked in. Chuck and Sarah sure had a  ** _different_**  sense of taste, but at least their place was clean. "It's just me," he called. "Honey's waiting in the car. Sandal strap broke."

Ellie's voice came again from down the hall. "Can you come back here, Woody? I can't carry all this myself."

The elder Woodcomb smiled. Clara did have quite a lot of accessories, as all babies tended to. This is where Honey should have gone back to help her daughter-in-law gather all the necessary paraphernalia. But never let it be said Woody Woodcomb was a weakling. He started down the hall toward the direction her voice had come.

The first door he tried was clearly not the right one. No one was in the room, obviously Chuck and Sarah's master bedroom. He backed out quickly, but not before catching a glimpse of the vintage Tron poster on the wall. "Great taste in movies," he muttered softly as he hurried to the next door.

Ellie buckled the last strap on Clara's carseat. Two diaper bags were packed and sat with a toy bag at her side. She looked up and smiled. "Hey, Woody, thanks for coming." She stood and embraced him, kissing his cheek. Devon sure knew how to pick them.

"Thanks for calling us. Any chance to see our sweet Clara, you know we'll take it."

She sighed. "I'm so sorry about the moving mix-up."

"Me too. We should have talked to you first. How's Chicago?"

She made a face that was almost as bad as the one right before she flipped out on the wedding planning session. "Truthfully? The house is great and Devon loves his job. But I'm not sure Chicago will ever feel like home."

Woody resisted the urge to tell her to dump the whole gig and move back to L.A. That would get back to Devon and he'd be understandably furious. Besides, Honey would probably say it for him in about a hundred thinly veiled ways herself.

"Well, you're always welcome here. You can stay with us if you need more room. Clara's little brother, perhaps?"

Alarm crossed her face first, but she hid it quickly and replaced it with a smile. "You and Devon are in cahoots, aren't you?"

He picked up the carseat holding Clara while Ellie gathered all the bags. She looked like she was going to carry the bags out for him, which might get awkward when they met Honey in the courtyard. He secured the carseat against his hip with one hand and gently relieved her of the bags with his other hand, getting the straps all on his shoulder, so he could return both hands to the carseat.

"Wow, you're an old pro," she mused.

Woody smiled. "Just showing you there's plenty of room for more grandkids. Take all the time you want tonight. We'll bring her back when you're ready."

"Thanks, Woody. And tell Honey I said thanks too."

He nodded. "Will do."


	20. Andromeda (Ellie's POV)

Ellie walked down the stairs into Castle. She couldn't help but look back fondly on the first time she came down here and how utterly blown-away she'd been. And though she'd been here quite a few times since then, the place still had an air of mystery and excitement about it. She knew she wasn't cut out for being a spy, but she and Devon liked to pretend every now and then.

Now that she thought about it, the last time she and Devon had had time for any kind of pretending, any fun at all, was when they'd been living here. Had it really only been a few weeks since the move to Chicago? It seemed like months. She and Clara had been here for over 48 hours and all she'd received from her husband were two texts, each at 5 AM, each saying "Love you, babe" and not much else. Ellie was pretty sure he had the first line saved and just added to it, to hide the fact he was recycling his texts.

She resolved to sit Devon down and hash out her opinion of this new lifestyle when she got back. She'd only let it get this bad because at first she'd thought she was being selfish to miss the daily foot massages, smoothie-making, and personal attention he used to lavish on her. She could live without all that, but he had to stop spending all his time and energy on his job and give some to his family.

"Hey, sis." Chuck smiled and waved.

"Ellie! Long time no see," Morgan said. "So, is it true? You're a real DARPA doc now?"

"Why don't we find out?" She had been dying to do one thing and she didn't get a chance at Dr. Dreyfus's office. He'd made her use the code phrase. She headed for the panel on the wall and pressed her hand against it. Her picture came up along with "Dr. Eleanor Woodcomb, MD, PhD," and underneath that, "Code name: Andromeda".

Morgan was predictably awed. "Andromeda? That is so freaking  _ **cool**_!"

Ellie smiled. "Thanks. I thought it was pretty cool too."

"Where's Clara?" Chuck asked.

"Devon's parents picked her up to have a little grandparent time. We'll probably fly home tomorrow."

Her brother frowned. "So soon? We've hardly had any time together."

She sighed. "I know. But I told you I came here for business, remember?"

"Where's Devon?" Morgan asked.

Ellie kept any hint of frustration from entering her voice. "He's Head of Cardiology at a big hospital now. He hasn't been there long enough to ask for time off yet." Really, though, a two-day trip back to where his parents lived wasn't anything like a vacation. Had Devon  _ **asked**_  to trade days off with someone, he might have been able to do it. Morgan didn't need to know that Devon didn't even try. And really, she was probably being petty to think he should have tried after she assured him it was no big deal for her to travel alone.

"Well, tell him I said hi." The bearded one looked like he was planning to leave.

"You don't have to go, Morgan," she said.

He pointed to one of the security cam monitors. "Yes I do. Alex is here. She was cool about me staying here when I was prepping for your mom's mission, but there's  _ **no way**_  I'm not going home with her tonight."

Ellie was pretty sure his emphasis on 'no way' was some kind of commentary on Devon, but she was trying not to talk about it before she talked to him. Time to change the subject. "Is their mission over? How did it go?"

Both Chuck and Morgan nodded and said, "Yes" and "Success" overlapping, but she got the distinct feeling it wasn't as successful as they were letting on.

Chuck saw her doubt. "Mom and Sarah are both fine. They rescued a scientist who'd been kidnapped. The problem is that the kidnappers were gone before they got there and now they're planning some dastardly deeds, so we've got to go after them."

" _ **We**_?"

He nodded. "Yes, we. Unless Dr. Dreyfus has changed his mind, Sarah can't go solo. Mom has to go to China. That means I'm going with Sarah."

She studied her brother, trying to figure out if this was good news or bad. He was hard to read right now. However, she saw Morgan heading toward the stairs and she couldn't let him escape. "Morgan, could I get some data from you? It'll only take a minute. Promise."

"Data? Like what? Please don't tell me you're going to put more of those sticky thingies on my face. It took me days to get that adhesive off."

Ellie set her briefcase down on the conference table. "No, I already did scans on you. I have to scan Chuck, but that can wait. It's actually something else." She bent over the combination and dialed in all eight digits. She'd never had such a high-tech lock on anything before General Beckman gave her this. She opened it and pulled out some large cards Dr. Dreyfus had given her. She showed the top one to Morgan. "Does this mean anything to you?"

Morgan studied it a few seconds, frowned slightly, then jutted out his lower lip and shook his head. "Nope. Nothing. What is it?"

Chuck hopped around to get a look before she was ready. He gasped and his face contorted into pain, but his eyes had that deer-in-the-headlights look. Why didn't he close them? Ellie stifled her scientific interest to react to her brother's pain and quickly turned the card away. "Chuck, are you okay?"

He clapped his hands over his ears, doubled over, and moaned. Morgan came up behind him, patting his back, concern written on his features.

"Chuck, talk to me. What happened?" Ellie implored.

He looked up and appeared to catch his breath. "I can't explain it. It's like a terrible migraine when I looked, but I couldn't shut my eyes. I tried. They wouldn't close."

"I didn't mean for you to look before I warned you. Dr. Dreyfus said they found these at Nicholas Quinn's hotel. Sarah said Quinn tortured her with them. She thinks looking at hundreds of them is what removed her Intersect. Please tell me I didn't damage yours." How incompetent would that make her to accidentally ruin the last human Intersect within days of heading up the project?

"Hundreds?" Chuck's face registered the horror of what kind of pain that would have meant, but he didn't dwell on it. Instead, he exchanged a glance with his best friend. "Morgan, get the throwing stars."

The bearded one grinned. "You got it." He crossed the floor to one of the practice areas and pulled out a box of ninja stuff.

It only took one look at the star for Chuck to grin. "Intersect is fine, sis." He nodded to affirm it.

Morgan then lobbed the insanely sharp disc of death directly at Chuck's face with murderous speed. Chuck deftly caught it, but it still made Ellie squeal at the sudden violence.

Chuck must have sensed she was about to scream a lecture at the both of them. He nodded at his friend. "Thanks for confirming that. You better go meet Alex. 'Night, buddy."

Morgan waved and skittered up the stairs, probably also knowing Ellie was about to blow. "'Night, Chuck. 'Night, Ellie."

Ellie eyed her brother who was grinning like a Cheshire cat. At least he looked happy for once. She couldn't really stay mad. After all, she knew the cards were supposed to hurt an active Intersect and she hadn't warned Chuck. Scaring her out of her wits was probably fair payback.

"Okay, Morgan's gone. How are you  _ **really**_?"

He shrugged. "About the same as before. I'm a little worried how Sarah is going to react when Beckman tells her she has to go with me to Iowa."

"Iowa? That's not far from Chicago. Is that where you think the kidnapper went?"

"We're not sure yet, but that's where the Intersect said the bad guys' evil plans were going to play out."

"What evil plans?"

"Nothing for you to worry about."

"Chuck, I have clearance now. You can tell me."

"I'm not sure I can, if it's not about the Intersect itself. Besides, I don't want you to worry. Sarah and I save the world on a regular basis, you know." He smiled warmly.

"What about John Casey?"

"We think he's in Europe, chasing a girl."

Ellie smirked. "Are we talking about the same John Casey that worked at the Buy More and lived in our complex for five years?"

"The one you nailed in the face with a frying pan? One in the same."

She smiled at that. Not many people could say they ever got the drop on him and it was a point of pride she had, even if she felt terrible after she found out Justin lied to her and John was one of the good guys. "I thought he was your partner."

"He was...is, well, was. But with Carmichael Industries all up in the air and Sarah rejoining the CIA, we couldn't really ask him to stick around and wait while we sorted it out, could we?"

She lowered her voice. "So it looks like you decided to go back in the field too." It wasn't a judgment, just an observation.

"General Beckman says this is a special situation. I can still go back to consulting after this."

She gestured at the room around them. "So how was it, just sitting in Castle, watching all the monitors?"

"It wasn't so bad. You should have seen Morgan. He was awesome; he even impressed Beckman the way he took initiative and found out Mom and Sarah had the wrong parachutes and—"

"I didn't ask how Morgan did. I asked about  _ **you**_."

Chuck sighed. "I want to be part of Sarah's life and work so much it hurts, Ellie, but I can't stand it when she holds me at arm's length. Not after what we had before. I miss her so much."

"I know. Try not to give up. Dr. Dreyfus and I both think this is not just an average case of amnesia."

"What? Why?"

"Things aren't adding up. It's not like classic retrograde, for one thing. Usually when a person has a memory loss related to a specific time, it's because of a traumatic event."

"I'd say Quinn torturing her was pretty traumatic, wouldn't you?"

"Absolutely, but Sarah remembers the traumatic event itself, and everything from five years before the event, just not the five years in between. The brain doesn't compartmentalize memories solely by time, at least not that cut and dried. Remember how Morgan's only lasting memory loss was all about movies? It didn't matter how long since he'd seen them. Sarah's memory holes don't make sense. There's no logical reason for her to remember Bryce and Carina but not you or me. Furthermore, she remembers some skills, but not others, again based on that arbitrary five-year date. Most importantly though, it doesn't make sense that her emotional memory has such weird holes. It's just...odd."

"I told General Beckman this was important! Sarah and I both think Quinn had to have engineered this somehow. It was the only way his plan would work."

 _Quinn engineered this somehow_. Something about that statement sounded really promising. Ellie could sense it was somehow connected to those cards. She just had to figure out what they did and how.

This would have been a logical time to discuss her other piece of salient information, but she couldn't. Sarah had signed documents that allowed Dreyfus to discuss the case with Ellie and other scientists, but Ellie was still obligated to protect the doctor-patient relationship and not disclose anything Sarah had shared privately with her psychiatrist unless it was a matter of national security. Up to now, she hadn't told Chuck anything Sarah hadn't already told him, just how she and Dreyfus interpreted those facts.

Through hypnosis, Dreyfus had discovered Sarah was afraid of remembering those five years. She thought she'd broken some 'cardinal rule of spying' by falling in love and now she couldn't even admit to herself how vulnerable and terrified it made her feel. Sarah didn't realize the extent of her subconscious fears and it would be dangerous for Chuck to confront her about them. Besides, it would only make Chuck feel worse to hear that Sarah didn't really want to remember, at least subconsciously.

So, hard though it was, Ellie didn't tell her brother everything she knew. She moved the cards aside in her briefcase and pulled out a handful of sensor wires. "Okay, you ready to let me put sticky stuff on you? Brain scanning time."


	21. Help? (Jeff's POV)

Jeff and Lester haunted the back streets of Berlin, always moving, trying desperately to blend in despite their total lack of knowledge of the city and the German language. Lester's hoodie hid the black hair which would have stuck out like a sore thumb, but his face was still a bit conspicuous in the land of Aryans. The Indian had his wallet, which was now empty of both money and ID. The Caucasian had no money, ID, or wallet either, but he had his phone (the last remnant of a failed eBay scam they'd attempted at the Buy More). Jeff didn't count it an asset when neither one of them knew anyone they could call in Europe. It was running out of juice and might even be dead already.

Jeff also had a tiny aluminum vial he had kept in his pocket ever since some wasted fan passed out on his lap after one sniff. He'd confiscated it for the fan's own safety, but decided to keep it as a emergency backup. Jeff preferred sobriety now, but one never knew when one might need to revert to old ways.

Still starving, their nose for food led them to the most bizarre little party, probably meant for tourists, judging by the cutesy Bavarian costumes. They food line was heavily guarded by goons who expected the partiers to pay, but they saw a weakness in the funky little folk band. They had just finished a set and were taking a break. Jeff grinned and winked at Lester, who nodded back with a wink of his own. Without even discussing a plan, they each chose an appropriately sized musician and followed them to a backstage area.

Jeff didn't want to hurt anyone, but he was hungry and this seemed like a way to get food. So he pulled out that emergency vial and unscrewed the top, then grabbed the band dude from behind. Just like his old stash of chloroform, it produced immediate results and the band member passed out.

Lester didn't have the advantage of chemical aid, but the skinny one was crazed by hunger and probably felt less qualm, since he'd already assaulted the train guard. He head-butted his smaller target into unconsciousness.

"Jeff, take his clothes," Lester urged in a hushed whisper.

Jeff shrugged, but he didn't hesitate. It wasn't like Lester hadn't asked him to do far weirder things before.

In a few minutes, they were both wearing traditional lederhosen, knee socks, and Bavarian hats. Jeff didn't say so, but he didn't think it worked very well on the dark skinned, black-haired Hin-Jew.

"Now they'll let us eat for free," Lester said, his eyes wide with ravenous expectation.

They left the backstage area and headed to the buffet line. Grilled bratwurst aroma was so intoxicating, Jeff's mouth watered in eager anticipation.

Mere feet from their goal, someone grabbed both their shoulders and started scolding them in German. Although Jeff couldn't make heads nor tails of what the guy was saying, his tone and the shove toward the stage made it pretty clear the band break was over and they had to go perform. Trapped by their disguises, they dutifully marched to the stage. Lester looked about ready to bolt, but Jeff saw that the band had left a piano accordion. This gave him an idea. He tapped his Hin-Jew buddy on the back. "Lester, we can do this. Let's play."

"Are you nuts? We don't know any German songs. Well, unless you count 'O Tannenbaum.'"

Jeff grinned. "You just need to channel your inner Wayne Newton, like Ferris Bueller." He winked an encouragement.

The lights went on in Lester's eyes. A wicked Grinch-smile formed on brown Indian features. "Let's do this."

Jeff heaved the accordion straps over his shoulders. He was very grateful it wasn't the other kind, because he had no clue how to play a button board. As it was, he was a bit afraid of the bellows and hoped he could fake the squeezebox well enough while Lester rocked their socks with his singing.

Lester picked up the microphone. Jeff did a short intro and then Lester belted out 'Danke Schoen.' The crowd didn't even care most of the words were in English. They didn't seem to care about Jeff's awkward squeezebox handling either. They sang along and applauded wildly when they finished. Jeff and Lester took their bows.

Was one song enough? Could they go get some of those heavenly-smelling bratwursts now? Drawn like animals to a baited trap, the two Bavarian pretenders headed back to the food line.

Someone yelled "Jeffster!" and the gig was up. People mobbed them. Again. Lester cried, "Bratwurst?" in a pathetic tone worthy of Oliver Twist. Jeff whimpered.

A husky feminine voice shouted in German and the crowds magically eased up. Behind the buffet stood a woman in a dirndl and blonde braids. She held out two plates of brats and cheese and other assorted goodies.

Jeff nearly choked on gratitude. "For us?"

She smiled and nodded, reaching the plates further toward them. Jeff and Lester ran to her and grabbed them, gushing multiple danke shoens to the beautiful blonde bratwurst queen.

The fans were thrilled to have them eat among them at their little picnic tables. They chattered on in German while Jeff and Lester devoured the real food. Jeff even made an exception to his alcohol fast in order to partake of the free German beer.

It might have been quite a feast, except that the owners of the lederhosen didn't stay unconscious forever. Two dudes wearing their sweatpants and hoodies came running from backstage, shouting something hideous in German.

Lester and Jeff exchanged horrified glances. "Time to go!"

They took off running. When they ran out of breath, they hid in an alleyway behind a big bakery. At least they assumed it was a bakery by the cakes, breads, and pastries in the window. Panting heavily, they stared at each other.

"I look ridiculous," Lester said.

"I feel ridiculous," Jeff said.

"We got some food, but now we're wearing shorts and it's going to be dark soon. We're wanted for assault and subway fare fraud. We have no place to sleep, no nothing."

Jeff pulled out his phone and checked the battery indicator. It was super low. "I don't think we can call, but maybe we can send a text. Who would help us?"

They both stared at the ground in silence.

"Chuck!" Lester said.

Jeff thought Chuck was a genius and a pretty great guy. He'd do anything Chuck ever asked. But Chuck didn't have any reason to help them. "Naw. He's probably mad because we left him holding the bag at the Nerd Herd desk."

"You're right. Morgan would be mad too."

"Wait. What about Morgan's spicy lady?"

Lester's eyes lit up. "Yes! We saved her life! We attacked those goons in the fake bloodmobile and  _ **Saved. Her. Life!**_  She  _ **owes**_  us."

"True, but I don't have her phone number. John Casey said he would break every bone in my body if I ever called her."

"This isn't a call. It's a text," Lester reasoned.

Jeff shrugged. "Still don't have her number."

"Okay, so text Morgan, but remind him what we did for Alex. Better yet, tell him if  _ **he**_  doesn't help us, we'll be calling  _ **her**_."

Jeff was about to point out the flaw in that reasoning, but then he realized it was a bluff. Morgan didn't have to know they didn't have Alex's number. He'd freak just on the threat. Jeff grinned. "Yeah, good idea. But what can anyone do for us from Burbank?"

"Morgan's the big  _ **spy dude**_." Lester curled his fingers in air quotes as he said the last two words. "Let  _ **him**_  figure it out. Send a spy plane or something."

They argued a lot on wording until Lester had the brilliant idea to take a selfie in front of the bakery and include the street name sign. Pictures were worth a thousand words, right? That would explain where they were. They would send that after the text, just in case they ran out of battery.

It took them another fifteen minutes to compose the text. When they both agreed on wording, they sent the following to Morgan:

**We saved Alex's life. U owe us. On the lam in Berlin, Germany. Phone dying. No way 2 charge. Send help plz. Not kidding. We harass Alex if U no help. U owe us.**

Then they took the selfie. It was hard because Lester kept laughing, but if they sent anything happy, it would look like a joke. "We have to look pathetic and dying," Jeff said.

"Don't we look pathetic enough in these ridiculous shorts?"

"The shorts won't show up, just our faces. Try to look starving."

"We just gorged ourselves on brats and beer."

"Yeah, well, who knows how long before we'll get help? That may have been our last meal for days."

With the last bit of battery power left on Jeff's phone, they sent the selfie. All they could do now was wait.


	22. Phone Tag (Multiple POVs)

**Echo Park (Morgan's POV)**

Morgan slept soundly after showing Alex proper appreciation for her patience. He sometimes wished he could go on missions, but it wasn't worth making her worry. In return for his promise to stay out of the field, she'd been super cool about all the time he spent in Castle. Besides, he was a lot better on planning and quarterbacking anyway. Even Beckman thought he did all right.

Although it was a trifle early at the crack of 7 AM when his phone chimed an incoming text, he wasn't as annoyed as he could have been. Sarah was due back soon. Maybe Chuck needed him to entertain Ellie a while so he could talk to Sarah. He grabbed his phone from the nightstand, hoping his quick attention kept Alex from waking.

But it wasn't Chuck. It wasn't Big Mike either. Morgan was quite surprised to see it was Jeff Barnes, ex-Nerd Herder, whose absence, along with Lester's, was still hurting his store. People might go online to shop these days, but the installation and repair side of business was as good as ever.

If it had been an actual call, Morgan would have declined it. Jeff and Lester were probably stoned silly and calling random numbers just to brag about their rockstar lifestyle. But it wasn't a call; it was a text. Expecting it to look like a cat walking on a keyboard, he hit display.

**We saved Alex's life. U owe us. On the lam in Berlin, Germany. Phone dying. No way 2 charge. Send help plz. Not kidding. We harass Alex if U no help. U owe us.**

_Cute. Now I get international prank texts_. However, he did notice they'd gone to lengths mentioning how they saved Alex and reminding him that their heroic deed put him in their debt. He was a little curious just what they expected him to do when he had no idea where they were besides "Berlin" and no way to call or text if the phone was dying.

Then came the picture. Jeff and Lester looked like constipated 'Sound of Music' rejects, standing in front of some random bakery. The street sign was also visible. That could help pinpoint their location.  _Did they do that on purpose, or was it an accident?_  Morgan couldn't help chuckling at the whole situation.

"What's so funny?" Alex muttered without opening her eyes.

"Nothing. Just Jeff and Lester. Go back to sleep."

She opened her eyes and looked at him. "Aren't they on tour in Europe?"

"Berlin, actually. It's just a text and a ridiculous picture." He held up the phone to show her the pic.

Alex laughed. "Is that lederhosen?"

"Looks like it, huh? Hey, they don't have your number, do they?"

She scoffed. "No. I think my dad might kill them."

Morgan nodded. "He almost killed  _ **me**_ when he found your number."

"Why do you ask?" She was still looking at their sourpuss faces.

"Just something in the text. They said they were going to harass you if I didn't help them. They're probably drunk. Nothing to worry about."

"Help them, how? I thought they were big stars."

"Funny thing. They didn't even say. Just 'send help'. Jeff says they're 'on the lam' but last time they thought they were wanted, the police weren't even looking for them. I was more responsible for blowing up the Buy More than they were." He didn't like how that came out. "Not that I was responsible either. I mean,  _ **I**_  didn't  _ **make**_  the bomb or bring it into the store. I found the detonator. Dropping it was accidental."

"I'm just glad no one got hurt. Can I see the text?"

Morgan frowned. "What? You're not taking this seriously, I hope."

She snuggled into him. "Well, they  _ **did**_  save my life."

"Yeah, but now they're never going to let you forget it."

She pulled on the phone in his hand. He resisted for a second, then let go. She'd see there was nothing they could do and drop the subject.

After a moment's silence she spoke. "Berlin is pretty close to Dresden."

"Oh no. You can't go bothering your dad with this."

"Why not? He's the one who told them to attack those people who kidnapped me. Besides, he's close."

"At least let me check first and see if they're really in trouble. If this is some practical joke, I don't want to bother your dad. He's got more important things to do than run after these morons."

"Deal."

After breakfast, Morgan tried the Internet. Casey's computer had a great set of bookmarks of little-known sites to get the best criminal intelligence all over the world. A lot of them required a password, which Morgan didn't have, but he still was able to get better info this way. Sure enough, Lester Patel and an 'unknown Caucasian in his fifties' were wanted in Berlin for fare fraud on the subway and assaulting a public transit officer. Why they had Lester's name but not Jeff's was a mystery. They did have a decent surveillance shot of the both of them, except they were in sweat pants and hoodies instead of lederhosen.

Once he determined they actually were wanted, Morgan looked up 'Jeffster' to see if they were performing anywhere. Maybe the police didn't know how easy these guys were to find. Dieter Schmidt Productions had canceled all performances after a no-show coinciding with the date of the subway incident. A lot of people had left angry messages on the public comment page, but when Morgan tried to use Google Translate, he found much of it wasn't coming through in English.

"Well, they  _ **are**_  wanted," Morgan told Alex, "but it looks like minor stuff. I mean, assault is big, but the guy wasn't really hurt, just thrown to the ground. They might be able to get off with fines and getting deported. Are you sure you want to tell your dad about this?This could be your chance to be rid of Jeff and Lester forever."

Alex nodded. "I kinda miss them around here. And didn't you say you've been having trouble replacing them on the Nerd Herd? Besides, we should let Dad decide for himself if he wants to help."

"Do you want me to tell him?" None of this was remotely Morgan's fault, and Casey couldn't break any bones over the phone.

"No. I'll ask him to call me, then we can tell him everything."

"Okay. Lunch today?" He had to put in some time at the Buy More, but it was Alex's day off.

"You sure you can get away?"

He was pretty sure, but he'd almost lost her over being unreliable. "Call first?"

She smiled. "That's fair."

.

* * *

.

**Dresden – (Verbanski's POV)**

Gertrude and John were having a nice dinner out. They both put their phones on silent, but he wouldn't turn his off unless she did, and Gertrude had far too many legitimate business concerns to turn hers off completely. However, she was very selective and only glanced at the incoming notifications. Only the most important callers would ever get through on a night like this. On texts, she barely even took note of the name before simply turning off the vibration.

A text came through to Gertrude's phone for John from his daughter, Alex. Again. She still kept texting multiple times a day even though her father was receiving less than half of what she sent. This one asked for a voice call. Not wanting to spoil the evening, she approved the text, but set it to delayed delivery. He wouldn't get it until midnight, when they'd both be asleep. He could call his daughter back tomorrow.

.

* * *

.

**Echo Park **–**  (Alex's POV)**

Alex texted her father three times, waiting ninety minutes between attempts. She was getting a bit sick of him not answering and planned to tell him so the next time they talked. If he couldn't call right away, couldn't he at least send a text saying what time he  _ **would**_  call? Was that too much to ask? She wavered between anger and patience. Dad did dangerous work in places where it was awkward or impossible to call. He could be dressed like a bush and crouched in the rain, unable to move while always ready to shoot some bad guy. She shouldn't be too hard on him before she heard his side.

It wasn't like this Jeffster thing was life and death. She just couldn't stop thinking about what if one of these days it  _ **was**_  important? What if she and Morgan were in a car crash and nobody could tell him? It was just... frustrating.

She gave up after the third text. Maybe it was her carrier. She'd tell Morgan at lunch and have him try. Noon in Los Angeles was 9 PM in Dresden. Surely even bad guys packed it in for the night. Dad wouldn't get mad as long as she was there to talk to him. Besides, he liked Morgan a lot better than he did when she'd first met him. He was the one who suggested she give him another chance after the breakup-by-text fiasco.

Alex asked Morgan to send his text as soon as she arrived at the Buy More, lest it become awkwardly late in Germany. He agreed and started typing on his phone, then showed her the screen. "How's this?"

**Alex has been trying to get a hold of you. Could you please call her ASAP? Not an emergency, but she's worried about you. Text back if this is a bad time for voice.**

"Take out that 'worried about you' part," she told him.

"But you are."

"I don't want to be the paranoid daughter." Whining, clingy women were probably why the government staged his death before she was born. If she couldn't be cool about his work, he'd cut her out of his life for good. Above all, that couldn't happen.

Morgan sighed, but he altered it as she'd asked and hit send.

.

* * *

.

**Dresden – (Verbanski's POV)**

Three texts from the daughter and then a fourth from Grimes finally convinced Gertrude this attempt to talk to John was urgent, or at least something she couldn't keep ignoring. Actually, it was good that they'd changed phones. If the subject came up, John would just assume Alex had a defective phone or bad networks. They were home at the apartment she'd rented for the two of them, so she might as well let him get his business over with. At 21:04, she forwarded Grimes' text to John's phone.

He looked at it with a frown. "I've gotta make a call," he said.

"All right." She waved him off, pretending the interruption was of no consequence. In fact, she couldn't really decide if it was or not. She had poured on the seduction tonight and he had hardly responded. He kept wanting to talk about her associates and her clients and all she wanted was to light his fire, then get him home and tear his clothes off. But after all his rebuffing and now the intrusion of the daughter and her troll boyfriend, the mood was more than a bit ruined.

John took his phone behind a closed door to make the call.

.

* * *

.

**Burbank (Alex's POV)**

Alex normally had a rule about no cell phones in a restaurant, but Morgan would understand why she wasn't putting it away this time. Her b.f. was a little obnoxious when he started talking about video games and he was a bit obsessed with science fiction movies, but on the whole, he was very understanding and sweet.

They had just ordered some fish tacos when the phone chimed and her dad's picture lit up her display. She pounced on it. "Dad?"

"Hey, honey. What is this about you trying to call me?"

"Oh, it's silly. That's what I get for having a cheap phone."

"Wait. How many times a day do you text me?"

She forced a chuckle. "About six. I just want you to know I'm thinking about you."

"Alex, I have only been getting one or two a day. Why didn't you say anything?"

"Because it was nothing important. Chunky or smooth peanut butter. Wool or cotton socks. Stupid stuff."

"Alex, it is never stupid that you want to get to know me. Smooth peanut butter and cotton socks. Now what did you think was important enough to bring Grimes into it?"

"He got a text from Jeff and Lester. They're in trouble in Berlin—on the run from the cops over some incident in a subway. Anyway, I thought maybe since they saved my life that one time, and they're kinda close to where you are, that maybe you'd want to look into it."

"Did Grimes put you up to this?"

"No, Dad. He didn't even want to bother you. And it's all right if you don't want to help them. I just thought you should know."

"No. You did the right thing to tell me. Put Grimes on."

She handed the phone to Morgan. He forwarded the picture from his own phone while he told him all about the stuff he had found online. He always got so cute when he talked to her dad, calling him 'sir' and acting all formal. There were very few things that turned her on more.

Morgan spoke into her phone: "If you help those two losers, you should make them squirm and let them know this settles the score. Oh, and if it makes any difference, I'm willing give them their jobs back at the Buy More."

A short silence.

"Yeah, but don't tell  ** _them_**  that. Make it sound like you bullied me into it. After this, they should owe  ** _you_**."

A short pause.

"Yeah, of course. Won't it be like 4AM there?"

A longer pause.

"Yes sir, on the nose. You can count on me."

He handed the phone back to Alex. She put it up to her ear. "Thanks, Dad."

Dad's voice was soft and caring. "Hey, it's nothing. Listen, I want you to know I answer every text I get. They aren't stupid. I haven't been ignoring you. I've missed you."

"I miss you too, Dad."

"I'd better go. You take care. I love you."

"Love you too."


	23. Test Balloon (Casey's POV)

Casey made a few calls after he finished with Alex. An old Interpol buddy of his would accompany the Berlin police to check out the area near the bakery. Jeff and Lester were to be arrested and roughed up a bit, and then left in a holding cell or interrogation room until he could get there tomorrow morning. Everyone was to feign ignorance of English. He wanted the numbnuts to sweat it out.

His friend mentioned that their manager, Dieter Schmidt, had quite a reputation for cheating large sums of money from foreign talent. No doubt Jeffster made a very easy target in that respect. While Casey didn't think the musical morons really worked hard enough to deserve to be rich, they would need money to pay fines, mollify their assault victim, and buy plane tickets. So he asked his Interpol friend do a little leaning on this Schmidt guy to make him cough up whatever rightly belonged to the idiots.

When he'd done all he could do until morning, he plugged his phone into the charger. Gertrude had been trying to pile on the sex appeal all night, but he didn't like the way she'd been dodging his legitimate questions about her business clients all through dinner. Now he had a bad feeling about the missing texts. He didn't have enough facts to confront her yet, but he certainly didn't feel amorous. He returned to the living room where Gertrude waited.

"Everything all right?" she asked. As well she should. He hadn't ever made nighttime calls without her in the same room.

"Just a little trouble back home."

"Oh please don't tell me the Bartowskis are begging you to come back already and prop up their dying business."

 _And so what if they were?_ Chuck and Sarah would drop anything, fly anywhere, and do anything he needed if he asked them. They'd risked treason charges and death before on his account. Did she really have no concept of loyalty outside of this strange physical possessiveness thing she was calling a relationship?  _Possessiveness_. That's when it hit him,  _ **hard**_. She was using him—for sex mostly, but also for her amusement. She enjoyed watching him squirm when she embarrassed him in public. She reveled in asserting herself over him for petty reasons because she found it entertaining.

The revelation stunned him so much, he didn't know what to do. He was supposed to be the predator, stalking his prey, dammit! Hell, Gertrude didn't even consider him prey. She had made him her  _ **pet**_. How had he let this go on? How had he not seen it before?

He knew he was taking too long to reply to her little jab. He would claim distraction over the "little trouble" to excuse his delay. He returned his gaze to her face, using all his training to hold back the flood of rage and confusion, at least until after his planned experiment yielded the evidence he suspected it would. "No, nothing like that, but I need to go to Berlin tomorrow. You didn't need me, did you?"

She arose from her chair, closed the gap between them, and pressed her entire body against his. Her breath warm against his neck, she spoke in a husky, seductive tone. "I always need you, John." Her hands slid down the small of his back to alight on his butt cheeks, where she applied gentle pressure, pulling him in.

Dammit, why did she still ignite his fire? He imagined her talking to him like a dog:  _Up, John. Good boy_. It made him seethe that any part of him would respond to that. He wanted nothing more at that moment but to tranq her, run out to a bar, have a stiff drink or two, and give his man-parts a serious rebuke for betraying him like this. "G-Gertrude? I m-meant, did you need me  _ **for work**_? In the morning?"

Why was he even asking? He had every intention of going to Berlin no matter what she said. Maybe he was looking for an excuse to quit his job outside of the fact he was most likely breaking up with her in less than twelve hours. Truthfully, his brain wasn't working so well at the moment, while she was pressing her very hot lady parts against him.

"You may have tomorrow off, stallion. But feel free to show your appreciation now."

Could he do it? Could he just pretend none of it mattered and indulge himself to keep her from suspecting anything? He nearly had himself convinced he could until Alex's sweet voice popped into his head and asked whether he would want  _ **her**_ to go ahead and sleep with some guy if he treated her like Gertrude treated him.

 _No_. He wouldn't want Alex to do that and he'd be a hypocrite to say it made any difference because he was male or this was work. Gertrude wasn't a KGB agent he needed to seduce to maintain national security. This was a personal relationship and he had standards. He wasn't some freelove hippy with no self-control. He was a Marine and a highly trained NSA officer.

He kissed Gertrude on the cheek. "Sorry, sexy. Not tonight. I don't feel well." It wasn't even a lie. He felt like crap on a cracker.

Finally, she released him. "Was it something you ate? Can I get you something to settle your stomach?"

He had to admit that sounded caring. Maybe he was just imagining the sex object thing. He was so damned confused right now. He almost consented to taking some Alka-Seltzer or Pepto, but he suddenly didn't trust anything she might bring him. He needed to be awake at 0400, so he couldn't risk her slipping him a sleeper. Good god, what would she do to him asleep anyway?

"No. I've got some antacid. I'll be fine." He started unbuttoning his shirt as he turned back to the bedroom.

She sighed, following him. "All right. Do you need a company car tomorrow?"

"It's not company business. It's personal."

"Then how about I lend you my  _personal_ car?"

It was likely she would retract the offer after the dumping. But for now, there was no point in rejecting it. "Thanks."

She pulled a key from her purse and dangled it in front of him. Casey placed one hand over his upset stomach and accepted the key with the other hand. He kissed her on the lips this time, but made sure it was nothing more than a quick peck.

He dropped the key on the nightstand by his phone and fished out the Tums from his duffel. He knew the sick he felt wasn't heartburn, not the kind that responded to antacids, anyway. Still, for the sake of the ruse and because it couldn't make him feel any worse, he freed three tablets and chewed them up.

He hopped into the shower and let the water run cold over him before warming it up so it wouldn't be so obvious what he'd done. After showering, he excused himself to bed. Thankfully, Gertrude didn't join him right away. It sounded like she was making Verbanski Corp calls to the states. It was still business hours back home.

For a while, he tried to listen to Gertrude's side of the conversations while simultaneously sorting through the emotional cocktail agitating around in his head. Neither endeavor was working very well and it only made the knot in his gut bigger. He was relieved when she finally came to bed.

"You feeling any better?" she asked.

He grunted a response. If she had paid any attention to him at all, she would take that as a no.

He allowed himself to fall asleep before she did. He had enlisted Grimes to use Alex's phone to send a text at precisely 0400, his time. It was just supposed to say  _How do you feel about raisins in your oatmeal? Love, Alex_. Innocuous. Completely non-urgent. The perfect test balloon for his theory.

It was 0348 when he opened his eyes. The rate of Gertrude's breathing indicated she was deeply asleep. He didn't move anything except his eyelids for twelve full minutes. At 0400, his phone did nothing, but on Gertrude's nightstand,  _ **her phone**_  blinked a silent incoming text alert. The light wasn't bright. He wouldn't have seen it at all if the room had been lit or he hadn't been specifically looking for it. But there it was: Gertrude had hijacked his phone.

He slipped out of bed and tiptoed over to her nightstand. He wasn't particularly stealthy about it. Since he couldn't shoot her or blow up the apartment, he hoped she would wake up and make some lame excuse so he could verbally lambast her. Maybe that would help the knot in his gut.

He tilted her phone to look at the display. The text from Alex's number was right there, plain as day. Gertrude grabbed his wrist. "Let me explain."

"Let go of me, Gertrude." He kept his voice low and menacing, almost a whisper.

"You got everything important. I swear."

"Important? Who are you to decide what's important between me and my daughter?"

"I thought I was your  _ **girlfriend**_ —your  _ **lover**_."

"You might have been if you hadn't pulled this stunt." There really was no point to discussing the fact she'd treated him like her pet. She'd probably be proud of it. Hijacking his calls trumped everything else and it was the deal-breaker.

"Just how many times a day does a grown woman need to interrupt her father from the other side of the globe to discuss stupid little trees?"

Alex had asked about bonsai? He hadn't seen a single mention of it. He gritted his teeth and answered her through the clench, "As many damn times as she wants, or until  _ **I**_  stop her. You had  _ **no right**_."

"How do you think it made me feel to have to compete with a pretty young thing who can do no wrong in your eyes?"

" _ **Compete?**_  She's my daughter, dammit! You knew about her before we ever got together."

"Yes, and I thought you were putting some distance between yourself and her for a  _ **reason**_. I thought you wanted to be with  _ **me**_."

"I did. My mistake." He pulled the back panel off her phone, breaking the casing. She was lucky he wasn't using it for target practice. He found the chip that she had used to commandeer his signal and yanked it out. He dropped what remained of her phone on the bed. "Sorry about that," he lied. "Take it out of my final paycheck when you mail it to Burbank. I quit."

"Come on, John. I admit I was out of line. Can't we talk about this?"

He leaned over the bed, close to her face. "I'm done trying to talk to you. You don't listen to me. You don't respect me."

"I respect you!"

Sure, when he was telling her where to set up the sniper rifle. "You don't know the meaning of the word, sweetheart. Find someone else to be your boy toy. I'm out of here."

Luckily, almost everything was already packed in his duffel, because he always kept it ready to go at a moment's notice. He turned on the light in the bathroom to make sure he hadn't missed anything, because he damn well wasn't coming back.

He didn't touch the car key she'd given him the night before. He'd get a cab or take a bus. He dressed quickly, zipped up his duffel, shut off the lights, and walked out into the cold and dark of the Dresden pre-dawn. He had to hand it to Verbanski for one thing: she didn't cry or beg. She let him go without a single girly manipulation tactic.

It was over. He'd told her off and he got out with his dignity. Why then, did he still feel like crap?


	24. Coming and Going (Chuck's POV)

By the time Ellie finished all her neurology tests on Chuck, it was pretty late. She called her in-laws as they left Castle so they arrived at the apartment with Clara shortly after he and Ellie made it home themselves. As much as he loved his adorable niece, Chuck secretly wished she had stayed the night with Grandma and Grandpa Awesome. It would have given Ellie some time to talk and it would have given Chuck a better night's sleep.

Ellie had said Clara was sleeping through the night, but she seemed to have lapsed. Or something. No question the little one had great lungs. Maybe Chuck was just sleeping too light because his bed was so lonely without Sarah. Ellie looked well-rested the next morning, while Chuck felt exhausted. At least he had plenty of practice hiding his sleep deprivation from his sister.

They both sat down for breakfast at about the same time. Chuck's cell went off: Beckman. He accepted the call and raised it to his ear. "Hello?"

"Good morning, Bartowski. Is Dr. Woodcomb with you?"

"Yes, General, she's right here."

"Excellent, put me on speakerphone."

That was a new one. Chuck lowered his phone, and spoke to Ellie in a whisper. "It's General Beckman. She wants to talk to both of us."

Ellie nodded. Chuck found the speakerphone button and pressed it.

"Can you hear me?" Ellie said in a slightly-louder-than-normal voice.

"Yes. I'm glad I caught you awake. I'm sending a car for you and your brother. You'll be flying together to Denver where you will change planes to fly home to Chicago, while Chuck will fly to Des Moines."

"But Sarah isn't back from Argentina yet," Chuck said.

"She's in Houston right now, catching her own connection to Des Moines."

"Do you realize I am traveling with my baby, General?" Ellie asked.

"Yes, arrangements were made for Miss Clara Woodcomb's ticket as well. The car will be there in fifteen minutes."

Ellie's eyes bugged out.  _Fifteen minutes?_  she mouthed to Chuck.

Chuck knew Beckman would not want to hear anything but 'yes ma'am'. He nodded encouragement to Ellie, but she was in total freakout mode.

"I'll make sure we're all ready, General," Chuck answered.

"Very well, I need to speak to Agent Bartowski privately, Doctor, so I bid you a safe flight."

"Thank you, General," Ellie managed to sputter out.

Chuck pressed the speakerphone button again, returning the phone to normal mode. He placed it at his ear. "I'm off speaker now."

"Good. I would rather not discuss terrorists with radioactive suitcases in front of a young mother. Carlos Rodriguez was spotted in Lincoln, headed toward Iowa in a rented pickup truck, but there was no sign of a lead-lined case. The nanobots and superfungus must be coming another way."

"How do we know they're not going to hit Nebraska instead of Iowa?" Corn was grown pretty much everywhere in the midwest, wasn't it?

"All our intel suggests they don't know we're onto them. They've had no contact with Argentina, so they don't know we recovered Rodchenko. Unless you and Walker discover another plan, we're assuming they're sticking to Project Locust as it is in the Intersect."

"Still, Iowa is pretty big." He regretted saying this the minute it left his lips. Beckman was no idiot, needing a geography lesson.

"Yes it is, and that's why I'm sending my best agents to cover it. Your ride will be there in fourteen minutes."

Chuck was about to thank her for putting Ellie and Clara on the same plane with him to Denver, but as soon as he opened his mouth, he heard the dial tone. Completely typical of Beckman to hang up when she'd finished imparting information. "Bye to you too," he muttered as he put the phone back in his pocket.

" _ **Hit**_  Iowa?" Ellie asked. "Who is hitting Iowa, and with what?"

Chuck smirked at her and used the parental tone she had used on him all his life. "If Beckman thought you needed to know, she would have left you on speaker. You and Clara and Devon are perfectly safe, I promise."

"What about you and Sarah?"

"We're 'amazing spies', remember?" He loved trapping her with her own words.

"Yes, you are." She dropped the worried sister routine and stood, gathering her dishes. "Does General Beckman have no concept of giving proper notice?"

Chuck laughed. "No. I can safely say she absolutely does not. How can I help you?"

"Don't you need to pack for yourself?"

He placed a hand on each of her shoulders. "Yes, but I am now a pro at no-notice trips to every place imaginable. Sarah packs," his mind immediately corrected it to  _used to pack_  because she was hardly the same anymore, "in less than five minutes. I had to learn to keep up."

Ellie muttered under her breath, "Yeah, but she doesn't have a baby."

Chuck didn't have time to hide the unexpected shock his sister's statement inflicted. The memory of his drawing of the dream house with him and Sarah and the 'someday' baby they'd been discussing always hit a sore spot.

Ellie saw his face. Her hand flew to cover her mouth. "Oh, Chuck, I'm so sorry."

A deep breath and another second lapsed, and he composed himself. "No, you're right. You have a baby. So let me help you."

Ellie managed to get herself and Clara dressed while Chuck did all his own packing and dressing. Then he helped Ellie gather up belongings and made sure everything made it inside one of the several suitcases she'd brought. He could see why the short notice had made her panic. Clara had more than just a collection of smaller clothes. There was tons and tons of  _ **stuff**_ , some of it far too cryptic-looking to even venture a guess what it was for.

They barely finished as a knock sounded on the door. Chuck opened it to find a woman dressed in black, wearing a chauffeur hat and sporting a government ID badge clipped to her pocket. "Agent Bartowski, Dr. Woodcomb, and accompanying minor child?"

"That's us." Chuck handed her two of the diaper-and-accessory bags without any apology. "We'll get the rest and be right behind you." Ellie carried two suitcases and Chuck carried his own and another one of Ellie's.

It really was a good thing Beckman had sent a car because he really didn't want to leave Sarah's Lotus in LAX long-term parking. Alex might have been willing to drop them off with Casey's Crown Vic, but he didn't want to ask her for that big of a favor when there was no emergency.

Chuck called Morgan during the ride to the airport to update him on the mission but he was careful not to say anything Ellie shouldn't hear. Beckman was right. His paranoid sister didn't need to know about terrorist plots and suitcases full of radioactive material.

Morgan mentioned he'd got a weird text from Jeff and he'd talked to Casey. Something funky was brewing in Germany, but Morgan insisted it was nothing important and he'd tell him all about it when it was over.

After the call, Chuck played peekaboo with Clara in the car. Ellie seemed to find this almost as entertaining as Clara did.

Navigating the airport was another experience that was completely different with a baby, but they got all of Ellie's bags checked and made it to the plane in time. Chuck had hoped he and Ellie could talk during the flight, but Clara was not very happy about the whole trip and cried a lot. Ellie pretended to be asleep to try to lure Clara to do the same, but Ellie fell asleep for real before Clara did. Terrified he might have to deal with a crying baby on his own, Chuck also pretended to be asleep. Clara finally succumbed and fell to slumber.

Since Chuck was tired anyway and there was nothing else for him to do, he joined his sister and niece in napping on the plane. They all slept until the pilot announced they were approaching Denver.

The connecting flight to Chicago left first, so Chuck made sure Ellie and Clara got to the right gate. He tried not to cry when he embraced his sister, but she'd come all the way to California and stayed in his house, yet they'd barely talked at all. Not that he even knew what to say. It just felt like two ships passing in the night. Empty.

When she disappeared down the boarding ramp, he went to find his own gate for the flight to Des Moines. He had some time to kill, so he called Morgan. "Hey, Mission Control, what's up?"

Morgan's smile came through in his tone. "Sarah checked in. She's already in Des Moines, getting stuff set up and ready. She'll pick you up at the airport."

Sarah called Morgan, but not him? He tried not to take it personally. Maybe she tried and he was still in the air. He didn't have that fancy satellite phone Shaw sent on his first transatlantic flight. Normal cell phones didn't have reception at 30,000 feet.

"Did she sound upset that she's stuck with me for the mission?"

"No way, dude. She's totally cool with it. Oh, your mom also checked in. She's refueling in Hawaii, on the way to Shanghai."

Chuck knew Morgan was exaggerating on the 'totally cool' part. Sarah probably wouldn't have told him even if she was furious. She might not be resentful, but  _ **totally cool**_? He doubted it. No use worrying now anyway. "Thanks, buddy. Looks like they started boarding my flight. I'll call you when I get to Des Moines."

"You got it, Chuck."


	25. Des Moines (Sarah's POV)

Sarah sat in the Des Moines airport, waiting. She wasn't sure exactly which of several annoyances bothered her most. First off, she was tired. She used to be able to fly for 18 hours, do a job, fly another 18 hours, and be perfectly fine. But her body had aged in the five years she'd forgotten. Surely, she had exercised, but she had never been very good at eating healthy or getting regular sleep. She never thought that kind of stuff really mattered. Now she was beginning to think maybe she was wrong. Not that she wasn't fit for a mission. She definitely was. She just didn't think she should be  _ **this**_  tired.

Her exhaustion level was nobody's business. She could hide it. Beckman certainly didn't know when she called the substation in Buenos Aires to tell Mary she was going to China but Sarah was told 'job well done, thanks, go home.'

 _I'm sending Agent Bartowski, uh, the_ _ **other**_ _Agent Bartowski, to Iowa,_  that sly old coot had said.

Then Mary cut in,  _You're sending Chuck_ _ **alone**_ _?_ Sarah surmised by the mother's tone that this was not standard procedure.

_There are plenty of agents there already. I_ _**would** _ _send Walker as his backup, but she's expressed a disinclination to work with Chuck since her... uh... accident. As long as she's still under psychiatric care, I am leery of ordering anything which may disrupt her mental balance and delay her recovery._

That manipulative old battle-ax. She might as well paint a target on Chuck's head and stand there pointing the gun. In front of his mother! What kind of a monster did they take her for? Even when she didn't trust Zondra, she didn't fail to watch her back. She did her job until the CATS were formally disbanded. And whether she remembered him or not, Chuck  _ **was**_  her husband and a very sweet guy.

Mary just nodded amiably as if that 'plenty of agents' b.s. had placated her completely. Sarah knew what kind of agents Beckman was talking about. It was the rank and file, lower level grunts. The federal equivalent of traffic cops. She could command a hundred of them with one phone call.

 _You can stop talking about me as if I'm not here,_  Sarah said, rather testily if she remembered correctly.  _I didn't want Chuck to go back in the field because of me, but if he's going anyway and needs backup, I'm willing to be his partner_.

Beckman arched that evil eyebrow of hers.  _Are you certain, Walker? Dr. Dreyfus can put us_ _ **both**_ _on the sidelines if he thinks I'm taking advantage of your delicate mental state._

Yeah, that was a lie, but Sarah knew better than to argue with a general. She couldn't remember the last five years of working with Beckman, but she'd had enough experience with her since 'the accident', as she so indelicately put it, to know Beckman was not a woman to be crossed.

 _Get him on the line right now then; I'll tell him to his face._ She crossed her arms and glared.  _Chuck is still my husband. I should think making me a widow in my 'delicate mental state' would be a helluva lot more destructive to my 'recovery' than being sent home because there are no babysitters available_.

Sarah shot an apologetic glance at Mary. The older woman had treated her as an equal, but she could have accomplished the Argentina mission by herself with no trouble at all. Sarah was getting increasingly sick of being treated like some second-class spy just because she was missing five years' worth of memories. Those memories weren't relevant. She was still a capable and competent agent. They needed to back off and let her prove it.

_Very well, Walker. You'll head to Des Moines to rendezvous with Chuck. I hope to have more intelligence for both of you when you arrive at your respective destinations. Good luck._

_Thank you, ma'am._

The video conference screen went black. Sarah braced herself to take the backlash from Mary. She totally deserved it for calling her a babysitter in front of the general. She would let Mary get in one good ream before she attempted an explanation.

Mary turned to face her, took both her hands, squeezed them, and spoke in what sounded a sincere tone,  _Thank you_.

_For what?_

_For accepting the mission even though you knew damn well Beckman cornered you into it. Chuck needs you. He's a good spy on his own, but when the two of you are together, you're unbeatable. Beckman cares about your memory, but she didn't do this for Chuck_ _**or** _ _for you. This corn smut thing is no laughing matter. She is sending her absolute best_ _**team** _ _to protect one of our country's greatest resources._

_It's just corn. I think we can live without it for a while._

_It's not just a matter of no corn-on-the-cob at the next backyard barbecue. Sweet corn is a tiny fraction of the whole maize family. Popcorn. Corn flakes. Grits. Tortillas. Cornstarch. Corn syrup. Do you know how many animals eat some form of field corn? Can you imagine how much gasoline will skyrocket if we lose all the ethanol we're currently using to abate the cost? We even make plastic from it. The United States not only consumes vast quantities of corn, but we export too. If all our corn is destroyed, there is no telling how many people and animals could suffer. And that's not even counting the economic damage. Why do you think Beckman is sending me to China? They're not even our ally. Why not just let them fend for themselves?_

That was when Sarah finally grasped the severity of it all.  _For the same reason we send humanitarian aid to our enemies after a natural disaster._

_Exactly. This would be bigger than any earthquake, tsunami, or hurricane. Millions of lives all over the world depend on corn._

_How do you know all this?_

Mary shrugged. _I lived in Russia for twenty years. I have a pretty good idea what they dream about. Having the right climate and soil to grow corn is almost as high on their list as military might and vodka._ She winked and smiled. _Almost._

_Is that why Rodriguez and Petrovich did it? So Russia can take over the world corn market?_

_If that's their reasoning, then they're phenomenally stupid. This fungus won't respect borders. If I fail in China, it will eventually take over all of Asia,_ _**including** _ _Russia. I don't think anyone could stop it before it hit Europe or Africa either. If you and Chuck fail, the continents of North and South America are both at risk. About the only place that's safe is Australia and other islands._

_Australia can't grow enough corn for the whole world._

_No, it can't._

And on that grim note, Miguel called them out to the tour van for the trip to the airport.

How many hours ago had she and Mary had that conversation? Maybe Sarah hadn't slept well, not because of her slightly older body or poor diet, but because she finally understood how critical this mission was. It was on hers and Chuck's shoulders to save the entire Western Hemisphere from a truly terrible bio-weapon. If they failed, it could mean starvation, riots, and financial ruin for more people than she dared think about.

Yes, she was miffed that Beckman had manipulated her. Yes, she was less than pleased at the stupid restriction Dreyfus had saddled her with. And yes, she was damned tired. But the one person she couldn't fault for any of this was Chuck.

This was like being on the team sent to prevent the attack on 9/11. No, bigger than that. If she let herself think about it too much, it terrified her. She didn't even  _ **want**_  to go this one solo with the staggering consequences should she fail. How in the world was Mary doing it? The fate of three continents rested in her hands and she was cool as a cucumber.

Because of his height, Chuck was easy to pick out in the crowd of people coming down the terminal. Sarah waved at him and he smiled back and headed toward her.

Still ten feet away, he stopped and looked at her with his sad-puppy eyes. "Sarah, I swear I didn't plan this." He sounded like he'd rehearsed it a dozen times and like he had a whole speech that came after it.

She closed the distance and threw her arms around him. They were undercover as a couple, not to mention, she was genuinely glad to see him. She whispered in his ear. "I know. It was Beckman. It's all right."

He pulled back enough to look in her eyes. "All right? Did you remember something?"

"Not really. But I know you're a good spy and everyone I trust says we're better as a team. This assignment is too important to waste time arguing over petty differences." She adopted her ditzy blonde persona and spoke in her Texas twang. "Honey bear, what did you say was the name of that charming couple who honeymooned on the train from France to Switzerland?"

He had a Texas accent of his own. "Charles. The Charleses. But this isn't Texas, darlin'." He was smiling despite his words.

"I know, Tiger, but I think the Charleses are in desperate need of another honeymoon and Dez Moinz is just about  _ **the**_  most perfect place for it. How 'bout it, Mr. Charles?"

"Well, Mrs. Charles, if it's a honeymoon you're after, then Charlie Charles will deliver."


	26. Airport Brainstorming (Chuck's POV)

Chuck was guardedly happy with the way Sarah took the news. Still, he felt more than a little déjà vu for the old days when she was just his cover girlfriend and everything about their relationship was fake. This felt more like the stakeout in the creepy Ring cul-de-sac than the under-the-radar train caper where the Charleses made their debut. The only thing fake about them on that train had been the name and the accents. Oh, and the rings. They'd been so in love then. They'd spent so many days having all their meals in the sleeper car that honeymooning had been the only reasonable cover they could use.

At first, it sounded silly to use the Charleses as a cover here. Why would  _anyone_  honeymoon in Iowa? Chuck had never made up a backstory for Charlie Charles, but now he had to. What did Texans  _ **do**_ , other than own oil fields?  _Cattle ranching... corn-fed beef. Corn! Yes!_  When they weren't using excessive PDA and cutesy endearments to keep people from getting too suspicious, they could say they were here scoping out cattle feed.

It was probably stretching credulity to think any self-respecting Texan would take his pretty little wife on a working honeymoon. It wasn't even likely cattle ranchers went out to the corn fields to shop for feed in the first place. He'd have to be crazy, eccentric, and obsessed, all at the same time, to have any chance at pulling this off.

But, since he didn't have any better ideas, he was content to stick with Sarah's. Maybe pretending to be the Charleses would jog a memory. Of all the ones he'd want her to remember, that train ride was pretty close to the top, right after their wedding and the real honeymoon.

Arm in arm, they traversed the airport, exchanging whispered information with pasted-on expressions completely mismatched to their words.

Sarah batted her lashes playfully. "I got word just before you landed that Rodriguez was spotted entering the Des Moines city limits. Do you have any idea why he'd go to a city?"

Chuck smiled and winked in return. "Not a clue. The Intersect just said Project Locust would initiate somewhere in Iowa. It didn't give GPS coordinates. Has anyone seen the suitcase yet?"

"No. The USDA did a routine border check on the pickup, and the CIA scanned it with x-rays while the agriculture guys acted all worried about fruit flies and boll weevils. No suitcase. Funny, if they had found an undeclared bag of apples, we could have detained him."

Chuck did a pretty fair lovey-dovey smile with accompanying googly eyes. "We could have arrested him for kidnapping too, but throwing him in the slammer does us no good if we don't find those nanobots."

"Right." Sarah sounded impressed Chuck figured that out. "So if I was the bio-terrorist, how would I do this?"

"Pick a field. Stop on a deserted road, open the case, and dump the nanobots out. That's it." Even considering Rodriguez didn't  _ **have**_  the case at the moment, Chuck still had the feeling they were missing something.

"Then how do we know they haven't already done it?" Sarah stopped in her tracks, no doubt thinking the same thing as he was:  _Already too late_. "No," she said firmly. "He would be leaving the country, not loitering around Des Moines."

"Which brings us back to why he'd be in a city when the corn is out on the farms."

"He knows we're on to him." Her voice evinced no doubt.

"How do you know?"

"Think about it. Why else would he ditch the suitcase? Why is he in the city?"

The clues were coalescing for him now. One truck out in the middle of nowhere would draw attention. "He knows we're watching all the corn fields." But the whole point to the superfungus was getting it to the corn.

A large electronic billboard in the terminal changed from an advertisement for rental cars to a touristy-looking outdoor festival, the 133rd Annual Husker Hoedown. Clean-cut folks who looked like they worked for Disney were enjoying hayrides, pumpkin carving, square dancing, lamb and piglet petting corrals, and fair-type food. A text ticker ran across the bottom to list events not in the picture, like the pie eating contest, giant corn maze, 101 scarecrows display, tractor pulls, jug band performances, and the crowning of this year's Corn Princess. Starting tomorrow. Outskirts of town, on a huge farm owned by a town benefactor of some sort.  _A corn farm_.

Chuck and Sarah exchanged glances. He could see in her eyes she was thinking the same thing he was: what a perfect place to ditch any tails, hide in the crowd, and get right inside a cornfield without detection. "If  _ **I**_  were a bio-terrorist,  _ **that's**_  where I'd make  _ **my**_  move," Chuck said.

Sarah batted her lashes again. "Hey, Tiger, I been hankerin' for a romantic hayride. Whatd'ya say?"

"Well, all right, Honeybunch, but we best keep you away from the Corn Princess pageant, or they'll be begging you to take the crown."

Sarah readied her phone to take a picture of the ad so they would have all the information. Morgan could look up the dedicated website and hopefully get maps of the grounds. The billboard morphed to a hotel ad before Sarah was ready. They would have to wait for the ad to cycle back. So, to hide the fact they were standing smack in the middle of the terminal, Sarah planted a long kiss on Chuck.

She whispered in his ear, "Tell me when the screen is back and help me turn around."

Chuck did a little fake pleasure moaning for some passers-by (not that he had to fake much), then he kissed her neck, still watching the billboard. Sarah faked some ditzy giggles in response to him touching places he knew she wasn't ticklish. He gently swerved her around just as the rental car ad was fading out.

The camera shutter whirred three times. Sarah whispered, "Perfect. Thanks."

He kissed the tip of her nose. "My pleasure, Mrs. Charles."

They chose their hotel by its proximity to the upcoming Hoedown and the fact it had a shuttle that would pick them up at the airport. No need to rent a car. They didn't trust the shuttle passengers or the driver, but they used the ride to update Morgan without speaking.

Sarah sent the pics while Chuck texted an abbreviated version of their speculation. Other spies were tracking Rodriguez and would let them know whether he was headed into the Hoedown. Chuck and Sarah could take over surveillance inside the festival and the terrorist would think he shook his tail. With any luck, that would make him drop his guard long enough to reveal the whereabouts of the nanobots.

Morgan liked it. Ten minutes later, he had run it by Beckman and had it approved. He was already in Castle, studying every inch of the festival grounds and running background checks on jug band members and Corn Princess judges.

Field operatives reported Rodriguez checked into a hotel not far from Chuck and Sarah's. Although it was tempting to go check him out personally, they resisted so they wouldn't look familiar at the Hoedown. Assuming their wild guess was even right and Rodriguez would show up there. If that suitcase surfaced anywhere else in the state, they could get a call at 2 AM and agents would pop out of the woodwork, like Buy More shoppers on Black Friday.

Evidently, Hoedown weekend was a big deal in Des Moines and the hotel was very full. The Charleses couldn't have the honeymoon suite, so they had to make-do with a room with two queen-sized beds. Their bed at home was the same size, yet after Chuck slipped under the covers, Sarah chose the untouched bed for herself.

Besides the fact it killed him inside to have her so close, yet not even want to cuddle, he didn't think it looked right. "What about our cover? Honeymoon, remember?"

"The door's locked, Chuck. Who would see?"

"I miss you, Sarah. Would it really be so bad share the bed with me?" Half an hour ago, they were making out in a public airport.

"I thought this would be easier for you. I don't want to send you mixed signals when we're not working."

"We slept in the same bed when I still lived with my sister and you were just my cover girlfriend. Nothing happened. I was a perfect gentleman." He held up two fingers in the 'scout's honor' pose.

She looked into his eyes. "Is that what you want? You want me to lie down next to you, so you can hear me breathe, forcing you to resist the urge to touch me because I hardly know you?"

 _Oh yeah_. He'd forgotten how hard it had been, and that was before there had even been real love on her part, before he had any idea what he was missing. "No, I..." His mouth stopped working. He wanted to say,  _I wish you'd remember enough to feel safe. I wish you'd remember enough to let me hold you tight_. But wishing was selfish. He'd sworn he was going to give her time and not push her. He let the sentence drop.

"I'm sorry, Chuck. I thought you knew all the honeymoon stuff was an act for our cover."

"I did. I guess I just thought you picked that cover because you were starting to remember me more. I thought I might not be so... repulsive any more."

"You're not repulsive!" She sighed. "I picked that cover because my ditzy drunk act is disarming. And Texas is close enough that it's not unreasonable for Texans to be here."

"I know. I know. And you shouldn't have to apologize for great acting. Just forget I said anything."

She came over, kissed his cheek and whispered, "Good night, Chuck."

"Good night, Sarah. I love you."

She didn't answer. The lights went out. He may have shed a few tears into hotel linens before sleep took over.


	27. Rocking the Jailhouse (Casey's POV)

By the time Casey made it to Berlin, ate a leisurely breakfast, and connected with his Interpol friend, Johann, it was nearly 10 AM. They met in a café right across from the jail. His friend had done an outstanding job talking to all parties involved. The thing was already settled.

"Here's what Schmidt owes them," Johann said as he dropped a large manila envelope on the table. "I've also got some instruments in the van."

Casey took a peek inside the envelope. It held Jeff and Lester's passports, but the rest of the space was packed tight with €500 notes. "You're kidding me."

Johann laughed. "Wish I was." He went on to explain all the deals he made. "They owe the BVG eighty euros for the original fare fraud and another three hundred as compensation for the assault."

Casey removed a €500 and laid it on the table. "Done. What else?"

"The city cops said they surrendered peacefully because they were practically freezing to death. They fed them minimum rations, as per your instructions."

"They're going to be in my custody when they leave and I insist they don't wear lederhosen, so two standard-issue coveralls, food, and the cell they occupied should come to about..."

"Two hundred."

Casey shook his head. "Oh no. I'm not going to let law enforcement be charitable when these idiots are loaded. A thousand, at least." He set two more €500 bills on the table.

"They also want a concert for the inmates."

"Fine by me. Make them sing until their vocal chords pop out. What else can you hit them with?"

"Upon release, they have 48 hours to leave the country and they're not welcome back."

"Good." Casey certainly didn't want to do this again. "What about lawyers?"

"Professional courtesy."

"Like hell." Casey put two more 500s on the table. "If they won't take it outright, then wine and dine them. What about you?"

"You know I can't."

The colonel counted out four 500s and set them in front of his friend. "Fine. You got a charity ball or a program for troubled youth? Donate it. I'd say it was fair payment for the hassle they caused everyone."

"These Jeffster guys sure are generous."

Casey growled.  _Generous, my ass_. "That's all they need is to fancy themselves philanthropists. Donate it  _ **anonymously**_."

"If these guys are such scum, why'd you call in a favor and have me do all this for them?"

Another grunt and then the obligatory admission muttered through his teeth, "They saved my daughter's life."

"You've got a daughter? Hey, congrats."

"She's 24. I didn't know until just recently." He stowed the envelope in his inside jacket pocket and held out his hand. "Thanks for all this. I owe you one."

Johann laughed as they shook. "Are you kidding? After Lisbon? I'd say we're even." He gathered up the money from the table and stuffed it in his pocket.

Casey nodded.  _Even it is then_. Johann took him out to the van and unloaded the instruments. Casey had half a mind to just grab two random cases and leave the rest for more donation, but he'd probably grab the wrong ones for this jail concert and the last thing he wanted was a hitch now. Johann helped him get all the cases into the jail. Jeff and Lester would have to carry the stuff or lose it from here on out.

Johann approached a guy sitting behind a bulletproof window, paid the 'fine' for the incarceration, told him the concert was a go, and introduced Casey. Casey flashed his NSA badge and ID. The jail guy tried speaking English, but Casey put him at ease with German. Casey wasn't fluent in near as many languages as Sarah, but German he could handle.

Johann took his leave. Casey nodded a farewell since they'd already said their goodbyes. The guard took Casey back to what appeared to be an interrogation room. "They've been in here nearly fourteen hours," the guy said in German. "They whine a lot, but we pretend not to understand anything except requests to use the bathroom."

"Good. They should be about ready to do anything to get out of here." Casey grinned. This was going to be fun. "Oh, and don't tell them who I really am. Undercover issues."

The guard nodded and unlocked the door. Two disheveled husks of human beings looked up from their chairs, looking very much like they'd been asleep. "John Casey?" Lester squeaked.

"Hm," he grunted. He assured the guard it was all right to leave him alone with them. They had a one way mirror, so they could watch if they cared to.

When the guard closed the door, Casey put on his 'mask' and started his performance, switching back to English. "Mr. Grimes sent me."

"Morgan got our text?" Jeff asked.

"You've gotta help us, man," Lester whined.

Casey raised his hand in a halting gesture. "Mr. Grimes is inclined to help you, but there will be obligations involved."

"Anything! What do we do?" Lester cried. Jeff nodded agreement.

"First, you will give a free concert to the inmates here as a gesture of goodwill to the German police who probably saved your sorry asses from frostbite by bringing you in from the cold."

They exchanged glances and nodded vigorously. Lester spoke for them: "Sure."

Casey suppressed the urge to grin. Man, it was fun to watch the weasels writhe. "Secondly, you've worn out your welcome in this country. After the concert, you will be remanded to my custody and you will pay for one first class and two coach plane tickets to get us all back to Los Angeles. I'll be on the same plane, but I'm not sitting next to you."

Jeff shook his head. "We don't have any money."

Casey turned slightly, opened his jacket and let them see the edge of the envelope. "Mr. Grimes leaned on Dieter Schmidt and forced him to cough up what he owed you. I will be holding it for now."

"Morgan's here too?" Jeff asked.

Casey glowered. "You think Mr. Grimes has  _ **time**_  to come bail out a couple of morons like you?"

"So is that all? We can go?" Lester asked.

"No. There's more. You will both concede right now that this favor cancels any debt having to do with my daughter. Neither I nor Mr. Grimes will owe you any further and you will never,  _ **ever**_ , mention it again. Oh, and I will still break all your bones if you ever speak to Alex."

Jeff and Lester nodded while Casey drew another breath.

"From now on, Big Mike will manage Jeffster and all your money."

"Wait a minute! No way!" Lester protested.

Casey turned to the door. "You have no passports and no one knows you're here. Good luck." He paused with his hand on the knob, but didn't turn around. "Oh, and no Internet connections. Their plugs are already pulled." He didn't want Lester thinking he could have this place wired like he had the prison back home wired.

"What he meant to say was..." Jeff began.

Casey turned and gave him a 'continue' look.

Jeff looked at his Indian buddy. "Lester, I don't want to sing for a living anymore."

"But it's our  _ **dream**_ ," Lester said.

"You were the one who said commercialism was 'bad'. Performing for money is like working for  _ **the man**_. You said we'd never do that."

Lester looked like he agreed, but he didn't say anything.

Casey cleared his throat. "If you are especially polite about it, and by polite, I mean grovel... I might be able to convince Mr. Grimes to hire you as Nerd Herders again.  _ **Maybe**_."

Jeff's eyes lit up. "Our old jobs? Really?"

"You'd have to actually  _ **do**_  the work. Bartowski's not around to pick up your slack."

Jeff face went to instant pout. "No Chuck?"

Casey gave a non-committal grunt. They already knew about Carmichael Industries, so he took advantage of that. "Spy stuff. Busy."

Lester rolled his eyes. "You know we don't buy that 'private spy' story. We're not idiots."

 _Suuuure, you're not_. They would have to figure out cover stories later. "Fine. But if you want your old jobs, you'll have to actually  _ **fix**_  computers and electronics. Mr. Grimes and Mr. Tucker are running a business. You owe them and you will act accordingly. The Buy More got along without you all this time. It can get along again, if necessary. Can  _ **you**_?"

"Lester, there's a Subway in the Buy More now. We can have real food again." Jeff was already sold and just trying to get Lester on his side.

"We have money for an apartment too. You can get your ferret back."

"And your hair dryer will work again in Burbank."

Jeeze, didn't these idiots know about plug adapters? Casey kept a neutral face. They looked ready to break.

"We'll do it on one condition," Lester announced. He was doing that sly eye thing he probably thought was intimidating.

Silence.

"After the jail concert, we don't sing unless we want to. Big Mike has to  _ **ask**_  us. We do it for  _ **art**_ , not money."

Casey shrugged. "As long as you're doing  _ **something**_  to earn your keep, there shouldn't be a problem."

Jeff and Lester exchanged looks. "We're in."

In another twenty minutes, they were set up in the mess hall with their instruments and some crappy speakers. Lester did a halfway decent Elvis singing "Jailhouse Rock" and then Jeff sang "Folsom Prison Blues", likely because Lester's girly voice was too high to do Johnny Cash. They did several other songs Casey never heard of. Probably more newfangled crap like that time they sang in the hospital. But the prisoners seemed to appreciate it, so Casey stifled his disinterest and let them sing.

He would have made them keep going as long as there wasn't a riot, but after about eight songs, the guards thought they might be pushing their luck, so Casey gave Jeffster the cutthroat cue and amazingly, Jeff and Lester heeded it, took some bows, and exited the stage.

 _Huh. Maybe there was something to this scared straight thing after all_.


	28. Amazing Maize Maze (Chuck's POV)

Chuck's cell woke him. Encrypted: Castle. Morgan would call from his regular cell if it was personal, which meant this was work. Chuck took only a second to check his surroundings and notice Sarah was missing from her bed. A split-second of panic morphed into hope she was just in the bathroom. She wouldn't leave her partner while on a mission. At least he didn't have to whisper to spare her sleep. "Mornin' Morgan."

"Hey, buddy." Did his bff have any idea how much his cheerful, upbeat voice meant? It had to be pretty early back in California, yet he was already at Castle. More likely, he never went to bed. "Did it go well with Sarah last night?"

Chuck didn't want to talk negatively if she was in the bathroom. He wasn't even sure how to answer that question if he was alone. They had slept in the same room, which was better than when she slept in his living room. Their teamwork had been decent, even if not the same fine-tuned perfection they'd once had. They'd talked without fighting and Sarah had been cordial and even considerate. Beside the fact her consideration had left him feeling sad and lonely, at least she was being  _ **honest**_. She was a lot like the woman he first met five years ago, minus the uncomfortable asset-handler dynamic. If only Chuck could stop comparing her to his beloved wife before the Intersect, he'd probably be happy right now.

"Yeah, it's cold here too," he finally said.  _Please don't ask more_. The more he thought about it, the worse it got. He needed to put it out of his mind. "But at least it's not raining."

"And she's right there listening." His tone implied he also got the message that the night had not gone the greatest. "Say no more." He switched over to cool professionalism. "Tracer on Rodriguez's phone says he just called a cab."

"I thought he rented a truck."

"He must know that the truck is being followed. Hopefully he won't figure out we hijacked the cab and replaced the driver. I thought you'd want some time to get dressed. I'll call back when I get word of the destination."

"Ten-four, Morgan. Thanks." He ended the call and bounded out of bed. "Sarah?" he called loudly enough to be heard through the bathroom door.

"Out here," came her voice from the opposite wall, muffled behind a curtain.

Chuck followed her voice and found a sliding glass door, left open about an inch. Already dressed, Sarah stood, looking out from a tiny balcony. He slid the door further and stuck his head out.

"Rodriguez called a cab. We've got an agent taking over as driver. They'll let us know where he's headed as soon as they know."

She snapped out of her reverie almost instantly. "Great." She turned and headed inside. It was indeed cold, but it was a crisp autumnal cold, not a biting winter freeze. It would be a great day for a hoedown, if indeed that was where they ended up.

"What were you thinking about out there?" Chuck set about getting dressed so she wouldn't scold him about taking time to talk.

"Oh, nothing."

He battled with himself over whether to press her further. Obviously, no one could think about  _ **nothing**_. He donned blue jeans and a plaid flannel shirt and slipped his tranq gun in the back waistband, under the shirt. Cowboy boots would have been great, but he hadn't packed any and taking time to find some wouldn't be worth it. His Converse sneaks would have to do. He sat on the bed to put them on.

Sarah broke the silence, evidently deciding she would elaborate without being pressed. "I just went out there so I wouldn't wake you up. I forgot you were lead on this one."

 _Lead_. He'd always deferred to Sarah and Casey as the senior agents and never thought a thing of it when Beckman or Shaw called them with whatever instructions were needed in the field. She'd been expecting Morgan to call  _her_. Morgan probably just called him because they were best friends.  _ **His**_  Sarah wouldn't have been bothered by that.

"Oh," he said, hiding the delay in answering behind an unnatural attention to tying his shoelaces. "I don't really think of it that way. Sure, when I was a civilian, you and Casey were in charge. But we're partners now, and have been for a long time.  _ **Equal**_  partners."

She nodded but didn't look like she fully believed it. How hard was it for her to accept that he was lead agent? He'd really only ever been 'in charge' of missions when she wasn't around. His Red Test was a big exception, but he tried not to think about that. Ever. Oh, and that one time when they'd been looking for a new Intersect candidate and they all got locked in Castle with a murderer. She had been supportive then. Of course, she'd also been his fiancée then.

Sarah loaded up her knife sheaths and gun holsters, at least the ones not completely hidden by her clothes. He knew how much hardware she normally wore, and he would bet most of the arsenal was already concealed. She also wore blue jeans, though hers were definitely more form-fitting than his. A cute red and white checkered blouse with ruffled sleeves and a eyelet lace yoke completed her look. She'd also French braided her hair in a single braid that ended just below her collar, a red satin ribbon making a pretty bow on her back. Chuck tried hard not to stare.

 _Where was I?_ "I mean it, Sarah. I've always listened to you. You've been a spy longer than I have. I know that." Had it been his call, he would have just given her the lead, but they both knew it wasn't his to give.

"I'm under  _ **psychiatric care**_ ," she said, with particular contempt granted the last two words.

 _Forget the lead crap_. "I don't care. We look out for  _ **each other**_. That's what partners do."

They arrived together at the bathroom sink, toothbrushes in hand, and conversation halted while they had their mouths full of toothpaste.

He let her spit and rinse first, so she was first to speak. "You ready?"

Chuck finished his dental hygiene and nodded. "Yep." They stowed their toothbrushes and phone chargers and zipped up their suitcases.

They checked out of the hotel, stored their luggage in a locker, and found a Starbucks across the street. Chuck's phone got a text while they were on their way: "You and Sarah are brilliant! Rodriguez on way to Hoedown. Has a conspicuous tail. Will let himself be lost when you are in position. Good luck. Cobra."

Chuck winked at Sarah. "We were right. You want to get coffee to go or eat there?" He texted a quick "Thnx buddy" to Morgan before putting his phone away.

"Let's just go. Bringing anything in would look weird."

And possibly pretentious. Chuck hoped this Hoedown had the same predilection for deep-fried everything as the fairs he'd grown up with. He could even eat corn dogs without shame, since Sarah had forgotten the Wienerlicious cover and all the poor innocent corn dogs she'd charred into corn dog purgatory. Of course, the mission had to come first. But if, by saving the corn crop from supersmut nanobots, he therefore saved corn dogs from extinction, one would think downing a few in celebration should be in order. Afterwards, of course.

They hailed a cab and went straight to the Hoedown. Discreetly, they inserted their earbuds and turned on their transmitters. "Morgan, you copy?" Chuck said softly.

"Loud and clear. Sarah?"

"I'm good." She and Chuck exchanged a covert nod to communicate they also heard each other. That would be important if they got separated.

Morgan came on again. "Let me patch you in to the field agent already there. Baines, you with us?"

A new voice crackled over the connection. "Baines here. Target is talking to someone by the corn fritter and funnel cake vender. He's 5-9, about 160, wearing navy t-shirt and jungle camo fatigues. I'm 5-11, in MIB Obvious." Which meant black suit, black tie, dark sunglasses, and his earpiece had a visible coil that ran down the back of his neck. He was lucky it was October. He'd still stick out, but at least he wouldn't be close to heatstroke.

"Copy that, Baines," Chuck said. "We'll have you back at the office in no time."

"Forget the office. I wanna go home and change clothes, get my son, and come back. Soon as it's safe, of course."

 _Agent Baines has a son_. See, someone could work for the agency and still have a family. Chuck would have to talk to Baines sometime about that. Now was not that time. He and Sarah held hands and strolled along in the direction of the Fritter Fryer.

Sarah was the one to announce, "Target in sight, Baines. You're free to make your move." Chuck saw the target a second later.

The general idea was to make the target think he had outrun or outmaneuvered his Obvious Tail so he would think he was clear and let down his guard. But Rodriguez was just talking, not trying to ditch Baines at all.

"He's seen me, but he's smart," Baines said. "If I approach him now, he'll know it's a handoff. He knows we wouldn't try to capture him until we see  _ **the package**_."

The package. Chuck pulled out his Geiger counter and did a quick check while hiding behind Sarah who was playing flirtatiously with his hair. No radioactivity. From what he understood, he'd need to be within 50 feet of the nanobots, closer if the lead casing was as thick as it should be. "No reading on the package from where we are," Chuck reported.

"Negative here too," Baines said.

So it was going to be one of those staring standoffs, waiting for Rodriguez to make a break for it. Baines moved in closer, probably just to be obnoxious. Sarah took Chuck's hand and led him off to the square dancing stage.  _Square dancing?_

Dancing was always a great trick in surveillance because it gave the perfect excuse to get a 360 degree view. People standing around a dance floor would look very odd to be looking at anything but the dancers. Dancers got to look everywhere.

He and Sarah had done just about every ballroom dance imaginable, but they never had an occasion to square dance before. An Intersect flash gave him everything he needed to know from promenade to do-si-do. Sarah must have had experience or she wouldn't have dragged him into it. Indeed, she seemed to know just fine what to do. As long as the music and caller kept going, they could keep a constant watch on Rodriguez and he would have no clue they were watching him.

"Where are you guys anyway?" Baines asked after some silence.

"Square dancing," Chuck said, without mentioning how they were dressed or what they looked like. He didn't want Baines to try to find them.

"Square dancing, really?" Morgan mused. "You guys are so awesome."

"Sarah's the awesome one. I'm just following her lead." He couldn't mention the Intersect in front of Baines.

Baines scanned everything peripheral to Rodriguez in both directions, which included the square dance stage, but he didn't let his black-lensed gaze linger on anyone or anything.  _Good agent_. He sighed after his scan and muttered something about special agents having all the fun.

Morgan countered with, "You have no idea."

It was hard enough to concentrate on dance steps while keeping his eyes directed away from his feet, watching the target, but not  _ **look**_  like he was watching the target. Chuck really didn't have enough leftover concentration to shoot the breeze over comms at the same time. He left that to Morgan and Baines.

His dancing partner sure looked pretty. Sarah's blouse was casual, yet exquisitely feminine. And those jeans were divine. He wondered how much of her smile was faked because the cover required it, or if she might really be as happy as she looked. He hoped so.

He couldn't really talk to her now even if he could muster the concentration. Sarah had always been too private to talk about her feelings on a mission, and that would go doubly with Morgan and some other agent they'd never met listening in. Chuck didn't really want to explain anything personal to Baines either.

The third dance number had started when Rodriguez gave an obvious nod to someone. "Did you see that?" Baines asked.

"Saw the nod," Sarah replied. "Not sure who he was signaling. Everyone watch ou—"

A horse-drawn cart dashed right in front of Baines and inexplicably overturned. "I'm all right," Baines called from the ground. "Please tell me he's bolting."

"Target on the move," Chuck confirmed.

Sarah sprang into action. "Oh Charlie, honey, I twisted my ankle. Ow, ow, ow." She grimaced and hopped on one leg most convincingly.

He used that as his cue to pick her up, feigning lack of strength so he had a good excuse to be quick. "Never fear, darlin', I'll get you to a first aid station." He ran off the stage with her easily riding in his arms.

They passed the horsecart and visually verified Baines was all right, but didn't stop until they'd made it to the other side of the cart and were blocked from view of the man who'd been driving. He was most likely in communication with Rodriguez and Chuck didn't want to tip him off.

When he was reasonably sure no one of importance would see, he let Sarah down and they both took off sprinting. "He ducked inside the corn maze," Sarah said.

The entrance was deserted of both visitors and employees. It had been cordoned off with a sign that said 'Closed for Repairs' but Rodriguez zipped under the sign and kept running.

When Chuck got close enough to see the scale and construction details of this corn maze, he had to gasp. It wasn't green stalks, set every few feet like in a growing field. This was straw-colored stalks that had been bundled with twine into nearly solid walls which had then been installed upright in a heavy clay foundation. He couldn't see around, through, or over its walls.

"Morgan," Chuck said with a bit of tremor in his voice, "please tell me you have a map of this corn maze because this is 'Goblet of Fire' and 'Labyrinth' all rolled into one here."

"Oh boy. Really?" Morgan sounded like he was caught off guard this time.

"You take the right. I'll take the left," Sarah said as they came to a choice of directions. What would they do the next time? They separated.

In seconds, he could tell Sarah had been ambushed by the sounds she made when she fought hand-to-hand.

"You need help, honey?" he called.

"No," grunt, "it's not Rodriguez." Oof, ugh. "He may be getting away. You've got to keep going." She didn't even sound like she was breaking a sweat, so he took her word for it she didn't need help and kept going on his own path, but he drew his tranq gun.

Two guys jumped him at the next turn. He could have flashed and done the kung fu thing with them, but he didn't have time. If Rodriguez connected with the nanobots and then made it to the corn field, mere yards away, this was all for nothing. And what better place to hide a lead suitcase than in a big corn maze  _ **conveniently**_  closed to the public? Chuck tranq'd his attackers and told Sarah, "Two down here," as he continued to run.

The maze was baffling, and Chuck met a dead end and had to retrace his steps and start over. "Sarah, I keep getting lost in here. How you doing?"

"Getting lost too, but no more guards to deal with."

Morgan interrupted, "Guys, I got a satellite image taken last night. I know what the maze looks like from above."

"Great, Morgan, but how can you tell where  _ **we**_  are to guide us?" Chuck asked, trying not to blame the bearded one for their present pickle.

"I can't, but maybe this will help."

 _Huh?_  Chuck's cell chimed an incoming file. He transferred his tranq gun to his left hand so he could fish out his phone. Morgan had sent the photo to him. Damn, but this was one freakishly huge maze. Hundreds of people could get lost in this thing for hours. Maybe that's what Iowans called fun.

But once he got over the enormous scale of the maze, he saw that some damage had already been there when the pic was taken. "Sarah, do you see that anomaly in the northeast quadrant?"

"I see it, Chuck. I think I'm almost there. Where are you?"

"Uh..." He took a few more steps, glanced in three directions and then back at the phone. The Intersect put together all the clues and showed him where he was with relation to the diagram. After that, it was just like a video game. "Got my bearings, coming your way." He ran, making no more bad turns, straight toward the place where the maze was damaged.

It was worse than the satellite photo when they arrived from two separate directions. Several walls had large holes, including the outside wall of the maze. Out the broken wall they saw Rodriguez running, a large tubular canister strapped to his back, and a crop-dusting airplane in front of him. The lead suitcase with "Project Locust" stenciled on it lay open and abandoned. Chuck's Geiger counter crackled from the residual radioactivity left after the contents had been removed, no doubt to the canister Rodriguez now carried.

"Rodriguez has the package," Sarah reported between gulps of air as they both ran after him.

"He's boarding a crop duster," Chuck added. "Backup choppers might be nice." He still thought they could get to him, but they might not be able to stop the plane from taking off.

"A crop duster?" Morgan exclaimed. "How did we miss that?" He didn't expect an answer because the next second he'd turned his mic to standby. Chuck could still hear him, but it was indirect and faint. Morgan called General Beckman and gave her the most succinct update he'd ever heard Morgan give  _ **anyone**_ , ending with an urgent request for air support. He couldn't hear the general's response, but Chuck had the sinking feeling it wouldn't matter if she sent an entire squadron of Air Force jets. It would only take minutes to spread nanobotic supersmut terror with a crop-dusting airplane. They just  _ **had**_  to get to that plane before it took off.


	29. Air Show (Chuck's POV)

Chuck ran as fast as he could, but Sarah was still ahead of him. She shouted, "Federal agents! Stop!" and fired a warning shot. It must have been a warning, because it didn't hit anything and Sarah was an excellent marksman. She had to know a bullet hole in the canister would unleash the very nanobots they were trying to contain. It might not be as bad as having millions of them sprayed over who-knew-how-many corn fields, but even one spore let loose would be a Very Bad Thing. Rodchenko said they multiplied like crazy.

Rodriguez climbed up into the pilot's seat. He looked for a second like he would take the canister off his back, but decided against it when he realized how close his assailants were. Instead, he sat and started the engine. The biplane rotated. A blast of air from the propeller hit Chuck head-on.  _Oh crap. Giant whirling blade of death coming straight for us._  Thankfully, Rodriguez was more interested in getting off the ground than slicing Sarah and him to bits. He kept turning.

This crop-duster had once been a two-seater, but the front seat had been converted to a hopper for fertilizer or pesticides. Presumably, Rodriguez needed to get the canister on his back emptied into the hopper at some point, so it was not too surprising when he unclamped the clear dome windshield and let it fall to the ground. Sarah nearly tripped over the rolling dome, but going around it gave Chuck the extra time he needed to catch up, so he was neck-and-neck with her.

Sarah stuffed her gun in her back waistband to free her hands. Chuck mentally allotted the tail end of the plane to her, since it was more accessible as long as the plane was still rolling. He would take the lower wing which was angled higher by the wheels in front. He thrust himself onto the wing and held on for dear life, even as he hoped Sarah could make the pilot abort the takeoff.  _I hate heights_.

A look behind him verified Sarah had caught the fuselage between the pilot and the rudder and was presently climbing up. The propeller noise was deafening and the heavy flapping of his shirt told him they were picking up speed. Just then, Rodriguez pulled a gun and fired at Sarah. She saw it coming and ducked in time, but she was in too precarious a position to launch a counter-attack. She needed to hold on with both hands.

Suddenly, the wheel vibrations ended. Chuck felt the lift in his gut. They were airborne. Worried for Sarah, he pulled his tranq pistol, but decided it was too risky to tranq the pilot. They could crash and rupture the nanobot canister, not to mention kill themselves and possibly innocent civilians at the Hoedown.  _No_. Instead, he stared at Rodriguez's gun and flashed.

World-class javelin throwers and dart champions lent him their expertise. Chuck hurled his tranq gun at Rodriguez's real gun and sent both guns flying out of his hand and down to the ground.

Sarah was making her way up the curved surface, but the pilot still had a much better tactical position down in the pilot's seat. Chuck couldn't bring himself to look down, but the force of the wind told him they were going too fast for anyone to survive a fall into the nearly-mature crop of green-bladed spikes of death. He couldn't leave Sarah to deal with Rodriguez alone. Paralyzed by fear, but determined to ignore it, he focused on the wings and concentrated.  _Please be in the Intersect. Please oh please oh please_.

He was hoping for some psychology to combat his fear, which he got, along with an extensive course in wing-walking. Buoyed by the Intersect skill flash, he grabbed a strut and hoisted himself up to a crouch between the upper and lower wings of the biplane just in time to see Rodriguez had pulled the canister off his back and was lifting it over his head. No doubt the next stop was the hopper, followed by the sprayers.

Now straddling the plane behind the pilot's head, Sarah grabbed the canister and yanked it away from him. Rodriguez sent the plane into a sharp bank that Chuck was afraid would end up a barrel roll. If they went inverted, he would be fine between the wings, but Sarah might fall off. Chuck was also more than a little worried that midair fighting with the pilot might end badly for them all.

The guy was dumb enough to turn around to get a look at his attacker. Sarah kneed him in the face and managed to get the canister secured in one hand. She employed her free arm to gain a chokehold on the pilot. Chuck couldn't hear the exact words she yelled at him, but her tone was pretty clear. The plane went back to level flight.

Chuck would feel better if Sarah wasn't playing the balancing act at 1200 feet. Intending to relieve her of the canister, he left the relative safety of the wings and crawled on his stomach down the fuselage toward the pilot's seat. If he stood or even sat up, his body would block the pilot's line of sight. At least he was close enough to scream, "Sarah, tell him to land!"

"I did!"

But the yoke was pulled back again and the plane was climbing. In the distance, Chuck saw another aircraft, but he couldn't tell what it was or which way it was headed. That was all they needed, to fly across the flight path of some airline or something. At least it looked like it was at a higher altitude. If they could level off or descend, they could ignore it.

Sarah gave Rodriguez one more vehement order to land. Chuck was pretty sure knives and/or choking would be next if he didn't comply. Rodriguez curled his lips in a sickly smirk-smile at Chuck. His left hand reached in a breast pocket and then traveled to his mouth. He chomped down hard on something.  _Oh crap_. Chuck had seen this before with Ring members.

"Sarah, he—" But it was too late. Rodriguez was convulsing and foaming at the mouth. Sarah let go.

Chuck no longer had to worry about blocking the dead man's vision. He resumed his trek toward Sarah. One of them needed to get in that pilot's seat or they'd crash for sure. Chuck reached down and hauled Rodriguez's lifeless body out of the seat. He looked down to make sure they were over agricultural land and not a house or the Hoedown. Nothing but corn fields in every direction. With a cringe and a muttered apology, he released the body overboard.

He looked up at Sarah. Her blonde hair was whipping in the wind and she'd picked up a minor scratch in the scuffle somewhere along the way, but she looked all right otherwise. With all the wind and the engine noise, he had to scream, "You wanna hold the can, or you wanna land this thing?" He was certain the Intersect would have piloting a biplane in there somewhere.

"Land," she screamed back. Now holding the canister with both hands, she lifted it up and out to him.

Chuck took the canister, but then he wondered where to go. He couldn't sit in front of Sarah. She needed to see to land the plane. He would have to step over her and then sit behind her. He waited for her to get settled in the seat and then started slowly maneuvering to a stand. His wing-walking "experience" supplied by the Intersect kept fear from taking hold. He was fully upright and had one leg over her head when something went wrong.

"Chuck, hold on," Sarah screamed. The plane banked sharply.

He couldn't see what had happened, nor did he presently have any plane part within grasp that he could use as a handhold, even had he spared a hand from holding the canister. Off balance and unprepared, he lost his footing and slipped off into free fall.

What had he thought when he was quarterbacking about how it was fun to jump out of a plane when one had a parachute? He wished he had one now. At least he still had the canister.  _Damn_. All this would be for nothing. The thing wasn't very heavy, which meant the metal couldn't be very thick. Surely, it would be crushed.

Chuck rolled over to look up at the sky. He would try to land on his back and hope his stomach would cushion the canister at least a little. He could see the plane above still turning. He could also see why now. There was a big radio tower out in the middle of the corn field that the plane would have hit otherwise. Sarah had been right to swerve.

He also noticed a helicopter with military markings on it, flying almost parallel, or maybe slightly higher than the plane. In the next split second, a huge net was launched from an open side door on the helicopter and enveloped his whole body. Weighted balls closed around him and tightened the net. It hurt more than a little when all his momentum abruptly transferred into the tethered net. He was certain to have rope burns and marks all over, maybe even a broken bone or two. But being caught up here meant he would live and the canister wouldn't hit the ground.

Immobilized, his eyes followed the tether which now towed his netted body through the sky. The rope ended at the bolted-down net gun on the helicopter. Colonel Casey stood up over the rifle sights and gave one of his closed-lipped smiles and a half-wave, half salute. Chuck's ear bud crackled and Casey's voice came through. "Hey. Bartowski. No falling out of planes without me."

Sarah cried, "You got him? You got him?" and Chuck was pretty sure he heard Morgan asking the same thing. Had everyone been talking on comms all this time and he hadn't heard because of the propeller noise?

"He got me," Chuck groaned through the pain. "I'm alive. Package is secure."


	30. Getting Down (Chuck's POV)

Chuck lay still as his wildly pounding heart slowed down gradually. There really wasn't much he could do, besides communicate with his team.  _His team_. Casey had shown up, literally out of the blue, and in the nick of time, as usual. Chuck owed him his life,  _ **again**_. Morgan was chattering away, high on the moment. After about five "that was so awesome" declarations, he changed mics and reported the mission success, presumably to Beckman.

Sarah was still trying to land the biplane. Casey had to give her direction and distance to the dirt airstrip because Sarah had become disoriented in all the aerial scuffles. She had sounded relieved that her husband didn't go splat in the cornfields. Or maybe she was just glad the canister was retrieved safely. It was hard to separate the two and Chuck didn't have the heart to ask. He didn't want to know.

Without propeller noise or the hammering of his heart, his ears picked up a clicking coming from his pocket. "Uh...Casey? How fast can you get me out of this thing?"

"What, you got somewhere to be?" Casey answered good naturedly.

"I really don't want to be holding this package very long. The canister is  _ **not**_  made of lead and my Geiger counter is making a lot of noise."

Casey's voice went muffled, no doubt because he'd put his mic aside to yell at the helicopter crew, but his urgent inquiries about bringing a radioactive canister aboard were met with negative responses.

Sarah cut in, "There's a lead suitcase back at the corn maze. Land there and I'll go get it."

"Copy that, Walker," Casey said. He ordered the helicopter pilot to put Chuck down near the corn maze and then land nearby. "Hold on, Bartowski." Did Casey actually sound  _ **worried**_?

Chuck tried to remember all the assurances about americium-241 he'd blithely recited to Morgan. If there were half a billion nanobots in the canister and 500 of them had the same amount of radioactive material as one smoke detector, then the canister should be as radioactive as—he did the math in his head—a million smoke detectors. The number wasn't as comforting as he'd hoped it would be. Maybe the bio-terrorists hadn't been able to obtain that much americium or had the time to build that many nanobots.

The prize he'd fought so hard to win and was ready to give his life to protect was now an abhorrent vexation he couldn't get away from. The best he could do was to push it down from resting on his chest and all his vital organs, to down by his knees. One of his legs hurt like the devil, but he ignored it. The net trap was too strong to push it further.

Morgan was talking off-mic again. Chuck couldn't quite make out what he was saying or to whom he might be talking. His best friend did sound rather insistent about something. Whether from the pain associated with the netting, or from radiation or just plain exhaustion, Chuck didn't know, but he felt his consciousness slipping.

The next thing he knew, he hit the ground. It registered more of a thud than any new pain. He hadn't been dropped from very high. He was still cocooned by the rope net, and therefore unable to move. Heavy boots hit the ground next to him. Military, by the looks of them. His vision drifted in and out of focus. A gruff voice said, "Don't worry, I'll get you out of there." It was soothing only in its familiarity.  _Casey_. No wonder Goya called him  _Angel de la Vida_.

Casey produced a shiny knife the size of Texas. A bayonet, if Chuck remembered his weapons training correctly. It wasn't important to flash to know for sure. The colonel sliced through the netting like it was nothing more than kite string.

Chuck tried to kick the canister away with his good leg, but his muscles weren't doing what he told them to. He just hoped Casey didn't make a crack about him being feeble.

The colonel reached for the canister.

"Casey, don't, it's hot!" Chuck thought the words, but they didn't come out of his mouth. Sarah had just run up and said it. She carried the lead case at her side.

"Yes, and we need to get it in that case," Casey grunted, grabbing the canister anyway.

"I've already been exposed. Let me do it."

"Shut up, Walker, and figure out how to get this round peg in the square hole." It was more like a cylindrical peg in a rectangular-solid hole, but Chuck wasn't strong enough to argue. He didn't think he could help no matter what.

"The canister won't fit. You've got to transfer the nanobots themselves." She opened the case and produced some copper tubing that had been lying inside when they saw it open. Sarah sealed up the case again and then attached one end of the tubing to a valve stem she found on the side.

Casey attached the tubing to the brass canister and said, "Stand back." He manipulated the valves. There was a hiss of gas.

"Was that it? Did they all go?" Sarah asked.

"Got me," Casey grunted.

"Geiger counter," Chuck suggested weakly. He even managed to get his hand down in his pocket to pull it out.

Casey took it and simultaneously said to Sarah in an undertone, "I got this."

Any other time, Chuck wouldn't have given their actions a second thought.  _ **Of course**_  save the civilians from radioactive materials first.  _ **Of course**_  secure the dangerous nanobots that threatened a major crop. But just now, when he was possibly dying of radiation sickness, he really wanted Sarah by his side, preferably the old Sarah who loved him.

As if in answer to his wish, Sarah knelt beside him and took his hand. "Chuck, I'm sorry. I'm sorry I made you fall."

"I saw the tower. It wasn't your fault." He coughed and discovered it hurt—like, everywhere.

Now that the canister was gone, a medic showed up on his other side and started working on him, but he didn't make Sarah leave.

Her eyes were beautiful, yet sad. "I should have taken the package and let you land."

If she had kept the canister and he had taken the pilot's seat instead, she wouldn't have had to step over him. Maybe no one would have fallen. But then they both would have been close to the canister all this time. They wouldn't even have known about the danger because the propeller made too much noise to hear the Geiger counter.

No, this was better. "It's all right. Casey saved the day. I'm okay."  _Maybe_. Chuck didn't think he had a death wish, but he was surprisingly calm about the possibility. Sarah wasn't remembering enough to love him the way she did before and he was beginning to think she never would.

If she didn't remember, could they start over? It didn't seem so likely anymore. Living without the love of his life was so painful that death didn't seem so bad.

Chuck yelped when the medic probed his leg. "Possible fractured tibia." One medic applied a splint. Another started an IV

Casey leaned over the medic's shoulder. "When he's stable enough to travel, get him back on the helicopter." He then looked at Sarah. "Beckman ordered us all to some secure military hospital. We were exposed to the radiation too. Gotta get checked out."

Sarah frowned and wrinkled her brow, but she didn't argue with orders. She made sure the frown was gone when she looked back at Chuck.

The medics transferred him to a rescue basket. Casey and another medic lifted him up and carried him to the chopper, which wasn't far away. Sarah let go of his hand, but stayed within sight. Chuck felt a little better. They must have given him something for the nausea in the IV.

On the helicopter, Chuck's basket got secured just a few feet away from the rest of the seats. Casey made sure Sarah got the seat closest to him. The Marines made everyone strap in. With the rotors going and Sarah being a few feet away, talking didn't look like an option, but Chuck really didn't like the idea of just lying there and letting his mind wander. He still had his ear bud in, but it looked like everyone else had taken theirs out and turned them off.

He turned his face toward the wall both for better privacy and to reduce the noise. "Morgan? Morgan, are you there, buddy?"

"Chuck! How are you? You sacred the pants off us!"

"Is anyone else still on comms?" He wanted to make sure this was just between him and his best friend.

Silence, and then Morgan's voice again: "Looks like it's just me. What can I do for you?"

"Morgan, I gotta know something, and I gotta know the truth. Tell me straight up. Why do you think Sarah fell in love with me?"

"Hey, what's not to love? You're the spy of her dreams."

If she had wanted a 'real spy', she wouldn't have rejected Bryce and Shaw and the MI-6 superspy Barker. Well, maybe Shaw after he went all psycho turncoat, but Bryce Larkin and Cole Barker were both great spies. "I don't think so. Remember, she almost dumped me after my Red Test. And you yourself reminded me how much she loved me without the Intersect." He was only an average spy without it, maybe not even that.

"Oh, right. Maybe it was because you were such a naughty asset, not staying in the car. Some girls love the bad boys."

Hmm. A bad boy? Really? Chuck didn't think he was that type. But he  _ **had**_  been rather naïve and vulnerable when he was just an asset. Maybe  _ **that**_  was it. She was his protector at first, and then his mentor. She'd fallen in love with his innocence, and that was why she never wanted him to use a real gun. They'd grown together, but she didn't remember.

And then it hit him. He couldn't go back. He couldn't pretend to be the bumbling, underachieving loser he was five years ago. He'd gained experience, maturity, and confidence. Was there anything in the present Chuck which could ignite that spark of attraction? Could old Sarah fall for new Chuck? It had been improbable enough the first time. It might be asking too much to make lightning strike twice.

Morgan's voice interrupted his thoughts. "Chuck, you there?"

"Yeah, just thinking."

"Ellie is meeting you at the hospital." Clearly changing the subject and trying to cheer him up. Well, he could use a little of that.

"I don't think I need a neurologist. No head injury."

"She has some news about Sarah. Beckman was going to send you two to Chicago after the mission, but when we told Ellie you'd been hurt, she insisted to come see you at the hospital."

"Well, she  _ **is**_  a doctor."

Morgan chuckled. "This is no regular hospital they're taking you to. It's classified. I'm not even sure which state it's in. Devon can't get in. Only  _ **Andromeda**_."

Sounded like his assertive big sis. "Good. Devon can take care of Baby Clara." He hoped. Surely they weren't going to let a baby come with her to this super-secret government hospital.

"You let us know what's happening, okay? Alex hasn't seen her dad yet. He left Jeff and Lester in Chicago when he heard you were in Des Moines."

"What, he didn't just magically appear in the sky like  _Angel de la Vida_  when I requested air support? You'd better not tell him we know that."

"He's not hearing it from me."

Static suddenly replaced Morgan's voice. This super-secret hospital evidently had a communications jammer, and a pretty good one to affect their best equipment. He just hoped Morgan would figure it out. He pulled the ear bud from his ear, switched it off with his thumbnail and closed his fingers around it until he could pass it off to Sarah or Casey. He felt a little better now he knew Ellie was coming.

They should be close, right? A jammer would be local. Chuck lay back and allowed the whoop-whoop of the rotors to lull him into sleep.


	31. Classified Hospital (Sarah's POV)

Sarah moved numbly, directed by medics and hospital personnel. She'd tried to comfort Chuck as best she could. She'd even tried to apologize, but he didn't seem to grasp the gravity of her sins. She hadn't decided to land the plane because she was a better pilot. She'd known full well the Intersect would be completely capable of landing a single engine plane. She'd taken the yoke for purely egotistical reasons. She'd wanted the position of  _ **control**_ , so she would look and feel more important than simply holding some dumb can.

Not only had Chuck been capable, but he'd been in a better position to take the pilot's seat than she had. She'd given him that can of death and then made him step over her. Would  _ **she**_  have ever tried to step over a pilot on a moving plane? And now she wasn't even certain she'd really needed to bank that soon to miss the radio tower. Could she have waited another few seconds? Could she have offered her hand to steady him before she made such a sharp move? Did everything really happen so fast, or was she deluding herself? Maybe this was some sort of backwards jab at Beckman to prove she shouldn't be responsible for anyone else.

Damn, she really needed to go see Dr. Dreyfus. She was a mess and it was time to stop pretending she wasn't.

But Chuck just waved his hand and forgave her so easily. He didn't know how dark her heart was. He still saw that  _ **other**_  Sarah, the one he'd fallen in love with. But she had pretty much conspired to drive home the point both of them should have known a long time ago:  _Spies don't have feelings. Feelings get you killed_.

She held his hand until someone said she had to leave him alone with the doctors. Sarah knew this facility had the rare doctors who actually had experience with radiation poisoning. If anyone could save him, they could.

They used her sudden freedom to whisk both her and Casey into examinations. She didn't feel so bad about Casey. She warned him not to touch the canister and he was just plain stubborn. Still, she should probably thank him for it later. His assumption of risk had lessened her exposure.

Now she understood why Rodriguez had taken that cyanide capsule. He knew that damned canister wasn't shielded like the lead case. The crop duster's hopper wasn't likely to be lead-lined either. He knew he was on a suicide mission from the beginning. He probably thought his mid-air death would crash the plane and achieve his terrible goals.

She answered questions in a daze.  _How did you hold the canister? Both hands or one? Against the body or away? How long was it in your possession? Didn't you know what you were dealing with?_  No, dammit, who tries to carry radioactive material in a canister that isn't properly shielded? How could she guess Rodriguez was a kamikaze?

They made her sign forms. They made her change into a backless gown. They took blood. They ran tests. They used sensors on her that she had never heard of and they talked in hushed whispers laced with too many references to roentgens and Chernobyl.

They started an IV and gave her counter-agents. An hour later, they took more blood and asked how she was feeling. "Fine, except for being poked and prodded and no one telling me what's happening with my husband." The word tasted funny on her tongue. People never gave as much weight to 'partner' as they did 'husband' so she used a word she didn't prefer, a cheat that removed barriers the same way a plunging neckline did when she had to seduce an enemy. She justified it by reminding herself she really did care how he was doing.

"He had a bit more damage to repair, but it looks like he'll live."

"Can I see him?"

The doctor pointed to the vial of blood just drawn by the nurse. "Give me fifteen minutes. We'll know then."

They already knew Chuck was going to make it, but they didn't know about  _ **her**_? Something felt fishy.

Sarah surveyed the room they put her in. It was clinical and utilitarian, devoid of any homey touch. When she was starting to feel sorry for herself, all alone and nervous, the door opened. Ellie and Mary stood in the doorway. "Are you feeling up to visitors?" Mary asked.

Sarah smiled. "Sure, come on in."

Mary carried a large, colorful bouquet, which she set on the table by her bed.

Sarah sniffed at the flowers and nodded in appreciation before a realization hit her. "You're back from China already?"

Her mother-in-law smiled and nodded. "I had help. MI-6 had an agent in Singapore. They sent him to Shanghai ahead of me. Cole Barker. He said he knows you and Chuck."

Sarah sighed and shook her head. "I don't remember him."

Ellie muttered something under her breath, but Sarah was paying more attention to Mary and didn't quite catch it.

Mary went on in a soothing tone. "Well, we had the easier assignment, clearly. Petrovich was the only blond in a population of black heads. He wasn't that hard to spot. Easy snatch."

"Did he take cyanide when you caught him?"

"Tried, but Barker stopped him. He'll be alive at least until they interrogate him."

The nebulous  _ **they**_. Sarah was acquainted with cases like this. The CIA would claim they handed him off to the Brits and MI-6 would swear they left him to the Americans. Since 'nobody' claimed custody of him,  _ **they**_  could take him anywhere and use whatever means necessary to get him to talk, which was especially important since Rodriguez didn't get a chance to spill his guts.

Sarah glanced up at Ellie who looked like she was trying to plug her ears and yell 'I'm not listening' over and over while they skirted around any mention of torture. It was a little rude for her and Mary to talk shop, but they were in a secure facility. Wait, how did Ellie get in, anyway? Sarah remarked as nicely as she could, "I'm surprised they let you in."

"I'm not here as Chuck's sister. I'm here as Andromeda. As soon as you and Chuck are both feeling up to it, I've got a theory to discuss with you about your amnesia."

"I'm fine," Sarah assured her as she sat up even straighter, "physically, anyway." Ellie was a medical doctor. She could confirm it on her chart. "Have they said anything to you about Chuck?"

Ellie frowned and shook her head. "I'm afraid my Andromeda clearance doesn't cut it with the nuclear physicists and radiation specialists. I have to wait just like you."

They chatted for a while about random trivialities like Clara's newest antics and what they ate on their flight.

Finally, one of Sarah's doctors stepped in. "I need a moment alone with my patient, but then she'll be discharged. If you wouldn't mind stepping out in the hall?"

Mary and Ellie nodded, although Ellie looked a lot less willing to vacate than Mary did. Sarah could just see the wheels in her head turning, trying to decide whether sister-in-law trumped medical doctor or whether any of her let-me-stay-dammit ploys trumped privacy. She must have decided not. She followed her mother out with a soft, "We'll be right out here."

When the door clicked shut, the doctor fixed her with a solemn stare and started in. "Sarah, I'm going to tell you straight out: this branch of medicine is in its infancy. We see a few submariners from our nuclear subs every now and then, but all of them are male and none of them have ever been exposed to quite the same thing as you were. I'm going to tell you what  _ **might**_  happen, but the truth is, we just don't know."

Sarah nodded. "Good. I prefer you just spit it out."

"There may be no side effects at all."

"Or I could keel over tomorrow?" she asked sarcastically.

"Well, you could, but not from anything related to radiation."

They must have told him her occupation. Okay, then he should know she dealt with danger and risk on an almost daily basis. She looked at him earnestly.  _Spit. It. Out_.

"There's a chance—and we can't give you numerical odds—but a chance this made you sterile."

Was that all? That didn't sound so bad... except she knew she'd have to tell Chuck. He'd probably be more upset than she was. Damn. She really didn't want to hurt him any more than he already was. "Okay, thanks for telling me straight."

"You should probably talk to a therapist. Many women feel grief."

"I already have one. Do you know Dr. Dreyfus?"

"Yes, he's excellent." He stood there, looking dumbfounded.

It was obvious this doctor wasn't prepared for her matter-of-fact acceptance. Sarah considered faking a 'more appropriate' reaction just to put him at ease, but then she'd delay getting out of here. She raised the hand with the IV in it and dangled it in front of him.  _Hello? Get this thing off me so I can leave_.

He stepped up to the bed and removed the needle, then placed a bandage over the hole. "Make sure you sign out at the desk," he said as he left.

She had her gown off and her clothes back on in under thirty seconds. She grabbed her bouquet and hurried out. Mary and Ellie looked astonished.

"Everything okay?" Mary asked.

Sarah nodded. "I've been released. Clean bill of health. Just have to sign out." She started walking toward the desk where she assumed her discharge papers were. "Where is Chuck's room?"

Doctors were still working on Chuck and wouldn't let them see him. They ended up waiting for over an hour. Sarah chewed three coffee stirrers to shreds and barely drank any of the coffee. Casey came by wearing bandages over various veins, blew off their concerned inquiries with a roll of his eyes and a grunted 'I'm fine' then asked how Sarah was. She also said 'fine.'

At last, the doctor came to the waiting room and said he could see visitors, but only two at a time. Mary and Casey volunteered to stay back. Sarah was relieved she didn't have to face him alone.

His leg had a cast and he looked pale and tired, but he brightened when Sarah and Ellie walked in. "Hey, little brother, how are you doing?" Ellie said.

He produced a weak smile. "I've been better. Looks like I have to stay here a while. They're flushing some nasties out of my tissues." He leaned so he could get a look around his sister. Sarah hadn't realized she was hiding. She side-stepped so he could see her. He noticed her bandages right away and met her eyes. "How are  _ **you**_?"

She could tell him about the possible infertility later. He didn't need to know that now. Sarah smiled and nodded. "Me? I'm fine. They ran tests and released me." She approached the bed nervously, unsure if she should offer more support now that he was out of the woods.

Ellie looked back and forth between them, an odd look on her face that Sarah couldn't place. "Well, I have a theory that may make everyone feel better."

Chuck's eyes lit another degree. Sarah was going to clock that sister of his if she let him down again. Couldn't she see he was vulnerable right now? Still, Ellie had done a lot of EEGs on her before the Argentina mission. Maybe she found something.

"I need Mom to help explain," Ellie said to Chuck. "You all right with her coming in?"

"Mom's back from China? Already?"

Ellie said a simple 'yes' as she went back to the door. Sarah spoke at the same time, saying, "Blond terrorist in China," as if that would explain everything.

Chuck looked mildly confused, but he didn't question it. Mary could tell him the whole story later, if she didn't have to run off on assignment. Mary's eyes sparkled with the same excitement Ellie had shown.

Ellie arranged everyone so they could all see each other's faces. It was a little hard to work around the hospital bed, but not impossible. Her smile kept growing as she got everyone in place. With the air of someone who had a big announcement, she started in.

"Chuck, you've had the Intersect in and out of your head more than anyone. How do you know when it's gone?"

He answered, "Easy. I can't flash."

"But there was one time, after Mom suppressed the Intersect, when you still had it, right?"

Mary flashed an apologetic look at her son, but kept quiet.

"Yeah," Chuck said. "But I still had partial flashes. We never did figure out how to fix the damaged one. It never worked right again until I got a fresh download from Dad's computer."

Ellie turned to face Sarah. "I noticed from your EEGs and other scans that certain brainwave patterns were more like Chuck's than Morgan's, so I wondered if maybe you still had a piece of the Intersect and just weren't aware of it."

"I can't flash," Sarah said. "Not even partial."

Mary spoke up, also grinning now. "There was one other Intersect experiment who never had a single flash— Agent X."

"Hartley Winterbottom?" Chuck asked.

Ellie nodded and took up where Mary left off, her speech quickening as she got more excited. "What if Nicholas Quinn removed the data and skill Intersect on Sarah, but left the part of the program which can implant a cover personality? If he made the cover personality essentially Sarah, just the Sarah of five years ago, we would never realize it was an implant."

Mary added, "Alexei Volkoff was so different from Hartley that it was easy to tell. He implanted you with a past version of yourself so no one would suspect anything. We'd all just think you had amnesia, like Morgan did. Quinn knew he could manipulate this alternate Sarah into killing Chuck and following his orders."

Sarah crossed her arms. "Well, he failed at that, didn't he?"

"No one's blaming you, honey," Chuck said. "You didn't do even a fraction of the bad things Volkoff did."

"Those cards he used to torture you," Ellie broke in, "those were essentially the same thing as a suppression device, but missing key frames."

Mary looked at Chuck. "Do you remember the device I found in Stephen's basement, the one I used on you while I was still with Volkoff?"

"Yeah, it was like a horrible kaleidoscope swirling nightmare on a tablet device, but the pattern was similar to the glasses Clyde Decker used on me to remove the Intersect completely."

"Think of the glasses as removal and the tablet as a partial vandalism, as it were." She paused and patted Chuck's leg through the covers, whispering, "Sorry, honey."

Chuck nodded, but he was too swept up to focus on his mother's past wrongs.

Ellie cut in, "The cards are even more selective. You know how movie animation works, right? Every frame is a single picture and they change so fast that your brain translates that as movement. If I'm right, Nicholas Quinn used very specific frames of the removal program to make sure he only removed the parts of the Intersect that would flash and give his strategy away. The personality implant program would be like the ultimate direct-brain hypnosis. He programmed your brain to think it was this alternate Sarah."

"I still have an Intersect?" Sarah said, finally accepting what Ellie seemed to be saying.

"Yes!" Mary exclaimed, "A personality implant Intersect, like Hartley had. Quinn had to know that part of the program was stable because Hartley had it for twenty years and no one ever figured it out until Ellie got hold of Stephen's research."

"If that's the case," Chuck said, excitement bubbling up in his face, "then all we have to do is remove it completely, like Decker removed Volkoff's."

"Yes!" Ellie nearly squealed, jumping up and down. "Sarah, all you need is a quick removal and you'll get all your memories back, except maybe whatever the rotten Data Intersect had damaged."

Chuck supplied, "All you'd forgotten before Quinn captured you was Alex. You still remembered us. You still remembered almost everything!"

Now all eyes were on Sarah. The Agent X story was a little fuzzy in her memory, but she was pretty sure Chuck said Decker forced the removal on Volkoff to protect himself from the whole scandal of the CIA creating a criminal mastermind. Would she be forced as well? What if she didn't want to go back to that emotional Sarah who'd broken the cardinal rule of spying? Dare she just refuse?

"Uh, can I think about it?" Sarah asked weakly.

Ellie's eyeballs nearly popped out. "What?! I thought you'd be excited for the cure. It won't even hurt but a second or two. Not like the way Quinn did it."

"But what if you're wrong? What if this is really me?"

"Nothing happens at all. The suppression device is completely harmless if you don't have an Intersect," Ellie said. She grabbed one of Sarah's hands and looked at her intently. "I know you feel like yourself right now, but this is not  _ **you**_. Quinn twisted and tweaked the personality to his own purposes. He forced it on you, painfully and without your knowledge or permission. This is  _ **not**_  you."

"I..uh..." Panic crept in. "Chuck, I just found out I may be sterile from the radiation. That family you wanted may be impossible with me now."

Chuck shook his head. "Sarah, I may be sterile too. It doesn't matter. I want you. We can adopt or we can just be aunt and uncle. Just..." He studied her face a long moment and the pale weariness returned to his features. He looked at his sister again. "If Sarah won't go back, then implant me with  _ **my**_  old self."

"What?" all three women blurted out together.

Chuck looked at Sarah, shaking his head while a tear slipped out of his eye. "I can't live without you, Sarah. My now-self isn't attracting your old-you. At least if I go back to who I was, there's a chance that we could find each other again."

Female rebuttals overlapped:

Mary said, "But Chuck, you'd lose everything, including all the memories of finding me."

Ellie said, "You'd lose the last Data Intersect too. You wouldn't remember anything about being a spy. None of it."

He just shook his head, tears spilling now. "Can't you see? Without Sarah, there's no point to anything. But if I go back to the old me, there's a chance we'd fall in love again, and failing that, at least I won't know what I'm missing. I won't be haunted by what we once had. I can be blissfully ignorant again."

Ellie kept shaking her head, muttering something about the Buy More, but Mary quieted and adopted that motherly look on her face. What had she said about Chuck's father?  _"One man never stopped believing in me, never stopped looking for me, and never stopped loving me until the day he died. Chuck is cut from the same cloth."_

Sarah cleared her throat and stood up straight. "I've decided. Remove it."

Ellie looked at her, blinking. "Are you sure? This isn't reversible."

Sarah gave a decisive nod. "I know. Once this is over, I won't remember the last few months, will I?"

Mary was very quiet. "Hartley lost twenty years and couldn't remember a single thing Volkoff did. It will be like a nightmare you forgot."

"I'm a little scared, but I'll be damned if I let Nicholas Quinn win." Sarah looked at Chuck, his glassy eyes sparkling with hope again. "I'm sorry it took me so long to see it."

"Just come back to me," he whispered.

Ellie drew a pair of glasses from her purse and offered them to Sarah. "Once you put them on, you won't be able to stop it."

Sarah took them and rolled them in her hands a few times. She was glad it was only going to take a second of willpower because she didn't trust this stupid, implanted, fake self to do anything right. Before she lost her nerve, she opened the arms of the glasses and thrust them on her face.

Swirls of color and flashes of bright lights danced on the lenses. She thought of taking a short break, but she found she couldn't blink. The universe danced across the theater of her mind, everything and nothing colliding in a hodgepodge clash of brilliance.

And then it stopped.

Sarah Bartowski shook her head to clear the cobwebs. Memories flooded her mind, staring out the window of a Japanese bullet train, defeated and captured, while Chuck and Casey receded into the distance.

How did she get glasses on? She took them off, expecting to see that bastard Quinn, but instead, she found herself in a hospital room with Ellie and Mary. Chuck was lying in the bed and everyone was staring at her.

"Wha—what happened?"

"Quick, who am I?" asked Chuck.

"Chuck, don't be ridiculous. I would never forget you. Where's Quinn? What happened?"

"You got implanted with an Intersect personality," Ellie said.

"Not as bad as Volkoff," Mary added.

"What? How?"

"Quinn," Chuck told her. "Quinn implanted you with a twisted version of yourself from five years ago. You didn't remember any of us. You tried to kill me."

She was a trained assassin to begin with, but Quinn twisted that further? "Oh, God, Chuck!" She ran to the bed, taking his face in her hands, her eyes roaming over his whole body, searching for whatever damage this Volkoffian thing in her body had caused. He had a cast on one leg, but she couldn't find any other injuries. The desperation and fear felt far too much like Thailand. "Are you all right?"

Tears spilled from his eyes and his voice was wet with weeping when he answered, "I am now, Sarah. I am now."

Ellie was crying too. She and Mary left the room quietly. Sarah wasn't sure how she got away from Quinn, but she'd bet Chuck had been responsible.  _ **Her**_ Chuck. She'd ask later. Right now, she wrapped her arms around her husband and kissed every inch of his wonderful face.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the record, neither Chuck nor Sarah are permanently sterile. I will most likely never have occasion to write the story where they discover Sarah is pregnant, but that doesn't mean it couldn't happen. For now, they just think they "probably" are unable to have children.


	32. Business as Usual? (Chuck's POV)

Mom, Ellie, and Casey welcomed the real Sarah back, but after a few hours, they all caught transports for Chicago and Burbank. Casey really needed to get home to Alex. Ellie had to get back to Clara and Devon. Chuck had a couple of days to talk to Sarah while he was still stuck as a patient. The doctors let him walk around on crutches, while Sarah pushed his IV-hanging stand along beside him.

When they weren't walking or talking, Sarah managed to find room on the tiny single bed to lay beside or partway on top of him. The doctors and nurses all frowned and told them it 'probably wasn't a good idea' to crowd the patient while Chuck was yet to fully recover, but Sarah told anyone who made a comment that it 'probably wasn't a good idea' to suggest she leave him.

He told her what had happened while she was not herself, but it was a much different experience than when he told her their story on the beach that day. He didn't lie about anything, but he didn't bother to tell her every little sordid detail either. If she asked or if she needed to know something in order to move forward, he mentioned it, but otherwise, Mom was right; it was just a bad dream. Best forgotten.

However, bad dreams didn't normally affect one's ability to have children. That was the hardest thing he had to explain, that they had both been exposed to radiation and very likely forfeited a future family.

Their luggage got forwarded from the hotel locker in Des Moines to the classified location where they were currently staying. Sarah found the drawing he'd done on the bullet train. "So what do we do about this?" she asked.

"I don't know. How much do you still want all that? We can save for the house. We can adopt a baby..." He cringed a little. "Although, I'm having some second thoughts on the baby idea after having Clara  _sleep-over_  a couple nights." He made finger quotes on sleep-over. "Maybe we should go stay with Ellie and Devon for a week or two and see how you feel then." Did she not remember why they volunteered for the Morocco rescue?

She shrugged. "I'm more worried about the fact I joined the CIA. Why didn't you stop me?"

Chuck laughed. "I tried. Let's just say I had little to no influence with that alternate-reality-Sarah."

She smiled. "Well, you have plenty of influence with  _ **me**_." She punctuated her declaration with a well-placed kiss.

He sighed contentedly. "Why did we not want to rejoin the CIA, again? Was it the danger? Because I learned something when I was free-falling over that cornfield—"

"You did  _ **what**_? Did I throw you out of a plane?"

"No, no, honey. I did that because Casey had a new net gun he wanted to try out on me." He smiled that  _you know I'm kidding_ look at her. "It was an accident. The point is: I discovered I wasn't nearly as afraid of dying as I was of living without you. If there won't be any children to leave as orphans, then..."

"What are you saying?"

 _Back it up and take this logically._  "I have the Intersect again. If I give it up, my dad's legacy is lost forever, not to mention, I'd be putting my sister out of a job I think she's really good at." He paused, gauging her reaction. She didn't look ready to bite his head off, so he ventured a little more. "I know we talked about getting out of the spy business and going all anti-cyber-terrorism instead. I love computers, but I realized it would be a lot of sitting, guzzling on chardonnay, and staring at screens until my vision blurs. That's fine for every once in a while, but to never do anything else? When I have all these skills and data in my head..."

"It's a waste."

He nodded. "Sarah, I know one thing for sure: I will do anything for  _ **us**_. I want  _ **you**_  more than I want the Intersect or any job or anything in this world. I'll do whatever I have to, to make you happy."

"But you want it, don't you? You want to be a spy again."

"Yeah, I think I do, but I also know I can't do it alone. I need you and Casey and I think we all need Morgan. He's been awesome since he accepted he's no longer going in the field. He even stood up to Beckman to make sure you and Mom got decent parachutes."

"I'm already back in the CIA, so you don't need to convince me."

"Yes, I do. If you want out, Beckman will have to let you quit or she loses her precious Intersect as a consultant." He tapped his temple. Beckman said he could keep the Intersect without being in the CIA at all, but he knew she really wanted it in her arsenal. He wasn't above a little incentivizing the good general.

Sarah's brow furrowed in contemplation. "Did I get my re-sign bonus yet? Maybe we could buy that house after all."

He liked what he thought she was implying, but he wasn't going to assume. "Forget the money and forget what  _ **I**_  want for a minute. What do  _ **you**_  want?"

"I—I think I was just so disappointed by that pregnancy test that I was trying to remove the obstacles between us and the family we wanted." She reached over and grabbed a pencil from the table and gently erased the baby and the part of her arm that had been posed to hold it. The result looked like the Sarah in the drawing simply held one arm behind her back. A young couple in love, standing in front of their dream house. "Chuck, we already  _ **are**_  a family, just you and me, but I think Casey and Morgan are part of our family too."

She shifted to face him squarely. "Maybe this is my Intersect-melted brain talking, but I honestly can't remember what I was thinking when I said I wanted to quit the spy business. You  _ **know**_  how crazy I get if I'm not going on missions. I'm not saying I never want children, but I'm not going to sit around doing a desk job because I  _ **may**_  get pregnant. Especially now, when we know that might never happen."

"So what if we ask Beckman to hold our re-sign bonuses in return for an easy-out clause? If we manage to conceive even with the odds against us, then we get to walk immediately. Both of us."

"You think she'll go for it?"

"Why wouldn't she? She wants us back and the gamble is in her favor. If she says no, we turn our backs and she gets nothing."

"I'm going to see if they have a way for us to call her," Sarah said, slipping off the edge of his bed. There was an electronic jammer that stopped normal communication here, but surely they had a line out for official calls to Washington.

She was back in ten minutes, helped him stand and get his crutches, then wheeled his IV stand down the hall to a video-conferencing room. Sarah copied the number from her cell phone and programmed an encrypted line out.

Beckman's face looked as surprised as they'd ever seen her. "Bartowski? Walker? I didn't expect to hear from you for a few days." She squinted at her screen. "Is that a hospital gown?"

Chuck looked down. "Yes it is, General. We're still at the hospital. We wanted to talk to you about—"

She held up her hand in a halting gesture. "If this is about Walker's premature re-joining, you can stop right there. After consulting with Dr. Woodcomb, Dr. Dreyfus declared your contract null and void because of a... how did he put it?" She faked a cough. "...a rare multiple personality disorder present at the time which rendered you psychologically unfit to sign. It is therefore not binding." She peered over her glasses at them, her face unreadable but clearly waiting.

So she had already talked to Ellie. Good. Was she as hungry to get them as Chuck had hoped if she gave up Sarah that easily?

Sarah grinned. "Well then, General, we've got a proposition for you."

Beckman's brow shot up. "I'm listening."

Chuck repeated the plan he'd outlined moments before with Sarah.

The general smirked in that  _this is highly irregular_  look of hers. "And I suppose Grimes and Colonel Casey would be part of the deal?"

Sarah answered, "They may not care about the exit clause, but yes ma'am, I think we've proven we work well together."

"The colonel had a deal like Chuck's for Des Moines. A one-time shot with no strings attached, brokered by Grimes, actually. He mentioned to me afterward that he was interested in re-joining the NSA, but he would only come out of retirement if he could live in Burbank and work with the two of you. Seems he's been spoiled for anything but the best." She said it was a straight face, but she couldn't suppress the smile that dawned when she finished. "Welcome back, team."

"Thank you, General," Chuck said.

"I've already started the paperwork for buying back Castle and the Buy More. Grimes had some good ideas about what to do for new covers. I'll let him fill you in when you get back to Burbank."

Chuck and Sarah exchanged glances.  _Morgan_  was working out their covers? They looked back at the screen, but the general had terminated the call.

"Chuck, I just thought of something," Sarah said. " _ **We**_  own Castle right now and we sold the Buy More just before all this. We can use  _ **that**_  money to make the down payment on the house."

He grinned. "You're right! I canceled the contract for the above-ground office building when Casey left and everything fell apart. We'll be getting a refund."

Forty-eight hours after their friends left, Chuck was finally discharged. He had a feeling the doctors had been uh,  _compelled_  by a rather persuasive female operative who wanted her husband back at home. He said nothing to discourage the intimidation of the poor reclusive nuclear medics who were clearly out of their league.

Morgan and Alex picked them up at the airport in Casey's Crown Vic. Morgan smoothed over the re-introduction of Alex to Sarah and the two women sat in the back seat, reacquainting themselves on the ride home.

Chuck told Morgan about their call to Beckman and not even his thick beard could hide the grin on his face as he listened. "So what's this I hear about a new cover story?" Chuck asked.

Morgan kept his eyes on the road for the most part, no doubt knowing Casey would kill him if he allowed so much as a scratch on the car. "Well, I've been getting a lot of pressure from corporate..." No need to explain he meant Buy More corporate; they all knew.

"See, in order to compete with online businesses, they're encouraging—uh better make that demanding—that each store have a specialty to draw in customers. Beverley Hills is playing on Hollywood. They're selling amateur movie-making equipment—you know, big lights, really expensive video cameras, boom mics, stuff like that. They hired some film school students to work their little 'Movie More' section, showing folks what to do with stuff. Their sales are going through the roof.

"The Vail Buy More added a big 'Ski More' section with even more ski stuff than they had before. They no longer have a home theater room. They have a room tricked out to pimp the new 360 degree Virtual Ski Experience equipment. It's kind of like Star Tours at Disneyland, but everything is Hoth."

Morgan glanced in the rear-view mirror, no doubt to confirm he'd lost the ladies with his geeky reference. He waved his free hand in a nevermind fashion. "Since we already told Jeff and Lester we were spies, I was thinking rather than change our story now, we'd just run with it. We could make the Burbank specialty section a 'Spy More' and sell amateur listening devices and cheap infrared goggles, you know, the kind of stuff Jeff bought to stock his stalking van."

Sarah interjected from behind, "Hiding in plain sight. Morgan, that's brilliant."

The bearded one grinned. "The general thought so too. We're going to openly tell customers we are spies, play it up to the hilt. Carmichael Industries will live on in the fictional sales pitches we espouse on a daily basis, presumed by everyone to exist only to sell our spy merchandise. I thought we'd even stage some not-so-covert 'missions', like Awesome staged, just to make it look good. Then let them catch us playing a super-secret game of Cataan or something. Of course, Sarah, you can go back to your cover at the Orange Orange if you'd rather."

"And miss the fun? I want in on this, Morgan. Ooo, we have to sell that buzzer thing we saw at ComiCon, what was it, Chuck?"

Chuck was so glad she could remember something from last summer that it took him a few seconds to recall what she meant. Someone had taken the hand-buzzer idea from the old joke handshake bit to making the trigger in the fingertips of gloves. "The Black Widow shocker gloves?" He chuckled. "Isn't that a little beneath you? You know Black Widow has nothing on  _ **you**_ , babe."

"I know. But why should comic book actresses have all the fun? Morgan, find out who sells them. The licensed ones. No rip-offs. I'll buy a pair and get the rest of the costume too. I bet I can sell it for you." Such a 'modeling' position was even easier to leave on a moment's notice. No locking up. No leaving a business closed at times any other yogurt shop would be open. Yes, it was a perfect cover.

Morgan chuckled, nodding his head. "I bet you'll sell  _thousands_  of them. You may single-handedly save the Burbank Buy More for another year."

Chuck wondered whether she might use that black wig she used for the Volkoff takedown mission or whether she was considering going redhead, but the thought of her in that tight leather catsuit was taking over his imagination and making it difficult to sit in the car.

"Morgan, can you turn here?" Chuck asked. He wanted to swing by the dream home and get the real estate agent's number again. He'd purposely destroyed her card after he told her they couldn't afford the house. She'd had a crush on him and it felt wrong to keep her number after semi-exploiting that fact to get her to let him throw a picnic in the empty house.

Sarah paused in her conversation with Alex. She remembered this street too.

Chuck had intended to point out their future residence to Morgan and Alex, but he wasn't prepared for the sight that met their eyes. The "For Sale" sign out front had a large plaque placed diagonally across it reading "Sold". Sarah gasped.

"Oh, you heard then?" Morgan glanced over at his best friend.

Chuck tried to keep disappointment from entering his voice. "Heard what, buddy?"

"This is Ellie and Awesome's new place. Devon gave notice at that hospital in Chicago when Ellie got offered the fellowship at USC again. I think Beckman arranged it, but it's not like Ellie didn't earn it the first time. Ellie knew you couldn't afford this place, so she's keeping it in the family. She said something about 'nobody better ever dare try to remove the carving in the door frame' because it was some kind of sacred shrine or something." He shook his head like he had no idea what that was about.

Chuck looked over his shoulder at his wife. Sarah no doubt remembered carving their names in the door frame, but not how it had saved his life. He whispered to her: "If we still want the house, I know Ellie and Devon would sell it to us."

Sarah smiled, serene and pure. "No, I think your sister should have it. Raise Clara here and put a swing on the tree in the backyard. We don't need all the maintenance headaches that go with a house right now. If we're ever ready to move in, they'll probably have four kids and be looking for something bigger."

"Well, I don't know about a swing," Morgan said, "but they did say they were going to install a swimming pool. You know what that means."

Chuck and Morgan chorused together, "Pool parties!"

Yeah, this could be mighty sweet. They'd be visiting for dinner and birthdays and pool parties and who knew what else. Best of all, Ellie would be close again, so he could come over and talk whenever he needed some big sis time.

It was so good to be coming home again. Alex and Morgan next door...wait a second. "Alex, has your dad said where he's going to live now?" Surely it was way too awkward for Casey to live with his daughter and her boyfriend.

"People across the courtyard took the Woodcomb's old place because it was bigger. They left their studio empty and Dad took it. He'll be close, but not  _ **too**_  close."

Morgan shuddered visibly. "Yeah, I got serious flashbacks to when Big Mike moved in with my mom, only from the other side. I am  _ **not**_  going there again."

Chuck gave him a  _I don't blame you_  look, but said nothing.

It wasn't long before they were back at the Echo Park Apartments. Morgan helped carry luggage, since Chuck was still on crutches. He and Sarah thanked them for the ride and accepted a dinner invitation for later that evening. But then Alex and Mogan departed and left them alone in their own apartment.

"Well, we're home, honey," Chuck declared.

Sarah threw her arms around his neck and whispered, " ** _You're_**  my home, Chuck. You always have been." And then she pressed her soft lips to his for a long, passionate kiss.

.

**The End**


End file.
